


won't come out of your mouth

by meinposhbastard



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Cas helping out, Dean Being Dean, M/M, angst until it's not, drunk conversation, hand&blowjobs, humour here&there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 21:08:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2887976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meinposhbastard/pseuds/meinposhbastard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The request was simple: bring the last three ingredients for the spell to work.<br/>Then how did things go awry so quickly?</p>
            </blockquote>





	won't come out of your mouth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Linnet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linnet/gifts).



> I've deliberately left out some tags to avoid spoiling the fic. But don't worry, it's nothing that falls under the 'trigger warning' label :)
> 
> The title comes from [Hardest of hearts](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HkzORb7JolI). You can say the song reflects the fic... if you squint.
> 
> Unbetaed. Fussing over a finished ficlet for months does get to my impatient side eventually XD
> 
> For now, this is all the trivia you need to know. Rest assured, I'll blabber more in the end notes XD

 

ooo

_His alarms went off too late._

_The wards reacted when his knee trespassed the invisible wall at the cave’s mouth, crackling ominously._

_The shock traveled fast, faster than he thought it would, blocking whatever action he wanted to take; it spread from his knee in both directions, connecting with the base of his spine. Then, as if it concentrated all the power into that place, it released it at once, dispersing everywhere, paralyzing cellule after cellule._

_It pierced through muscle and bone alike, making his eyes flash in and out as he struggled to contain what it wanted to **take**._

_It robbed him of a gasp, breaking through his clenched jaw, the desperation to reign himself in the sole thought bouncing up and down in his mind._

_He couldn’t. He won’t be able to. It made him feel like a baby with a lollipop, which was ironic, because he was supposed to be one of the most powerful beings on earth._

_The vibrations coming from the ground were lost upon him, forced as he was to narrow down his focus. He had time to look up and see Sam’s prone body, gasping for air, before he flashed out, atoms and molecules pulled taut, skull painfully compressing on itself, flesh a breath away from being ripped apart, awareness of each pulsing soul, each pulsing heart ( **his** heart) on the planet swallowed up into silence -- **snap**._

_It left him on the ground, fevered, unconscious, fragile and unguarded._

_He fought for what’s naturally his._

_It made the transition harrowing and violent._

ooo

Sam’s finding it rather difficult to return to consciousness. Much more difficult now than when he’s just back from a hunt, all beaten up and sore.

This is different.

It’s all too fuzzy for his liking and he blinks several times to push away the fog that’s making him see unfamiliar shapes.

What happened?

Sam has no idea.

The sound of breathing pushes first through the fog, before realizing it’s his own breath that he hears and feels expanding and contracting his chest. It’s confusing and slow. His mind is back online before his body and it makes the process of getting it to catch up with his already-working brain seem _so slow_.

He can’t do anything about it, which means he’s forced to be patient as his senses get back to him one at a time.

It takes no more than a short second for his nose to pick up something stale and -- earthy, if he has to take a wild guess. Then the feeling in his limbs returns and a nagging pain makes itself known. It’s not excruciating, which should mean that nothing’s broken. Hopefully.

When he tries to lift a hand so that he can push back the locks of hair that fell into his eyes, but can’t, he’s wide awake. Hunter full-mode, assessing his surroundings, cataloguing the threats, alongside possible ways of escaping.

The sudden movement sends a wave of dizziness and nausea to hit him in full force. He groans and lets his head loll forward, face down, eyes tightly shut, to get his bearings under control again.

It’s a couple of seconds later, or maybe a minute, that he dares to open his eyes and look around. He does it slowly, lifting his eyelids millimeter by tiny millimeter, afraid the room will start swimming mockingly again.

It doesn’t happen, to his relief.

But everything hurts, which is not big on his list of awesome things. Every single muscle screams in agony at him, making him feel lightheaded. He also feels an incessant buzz just underneath his skin, which constantly distracts him.

He takes a steadying breath, his eyes almost wide open, separating what’s important to focus on right now and what’s not. He’s prepared to assess the poorly illuminated room again, when a groan to his left attracts his attention, his head darting up to take in--

Memories forced at the back of his mind come forth at the sight of a disoriented Gabriel. They were supposed to gather the last three ingredients to complete a defensive spell against three powerful witches.

It was imperative they had everything before the next full moon, because they needed the rays of light to infuse more power into the spell. A full moon that will happen four days from when they departed.

_“You need to take Sam with you, Gabriel,” Castiel’s gravelly voice vibrated slightly in the air._

_Gabriel lifted a mocking eyebrow, as if to say “Does ‘archangel’ ring any bells?”. Castiel sighed._

_“Two of the ingredients are both warded against demons and angels, thus making you unable to reach them. That’s where Sam’s needed. The third one is guarded by demons, so you shouldn’t have problems taking it,” Cas explained, a bit tired._

_They locked gazes, Gabriel’s transmitting high levels of petulance, while Cas’ seemed unfazed. If they really wanted the spell to work, then Gabriel needed to stop being so childish and accept that he wasn’t that almighty and sometimes needed help, too._

_“Alright,” Sam broke the silence, standing and approaching Gabriel; time wasn’t on their side. “Let’s go.”_

_“Sammy, are you sure?” Dean asked, worry depicted on his face. “I can go--”_

_Sam lifted a hand to stop him. “No, Dean. You need to stay here and help Cas sort out the steps of the spell and the ingredients.”_

_But Sam could see Dean was fidgeting subtly, still unconvinced. He sighed._

_“I’ll be fine, Dean,” he said firmly, trying to placate his brother’s anxiousness. He worried too much. It was a miracle he hadn’t developed stomach ulcer, but it might be because he was used to that kind of concern._

_“Worry not, bucko,” Gabriel intervened, clamping a small hand down Sam’s shoulder -- to the taller man’s chagrin. “He’s got his back covered by angelic juice.” He smirked, waggling his eyebrows in that obscene manner he always did._

_Dean grimaced at the mental image, but said nothing. Instead he sighed, returning to the desk full of several weird ingredients Gabriel managed to procure, while Cas had been busy understanding the spell._

_And they were gone._

Gabriel rolls his head this way and that way, joints snapping in place, eyes still resolutely closed. He doesn’t remember ever feeling his limbs so heavy, the pounding headache, the deafening silence all around him. It’s unpreceded.

A minute later Gabriel’s eyelids give way to his dark brown eyes. At first they are unfocused and lost, but mildly curious. Then his gaze focuses and he takes in his environment, turning his head around until, finally, his eyes settle down on Sam’s face.

“Where are we?” Sam asks without preamble, his voice a bit husky with disuse; he has a calm air about him, but Gabriel can make out the hard angles of his face and the cautious look in his eyes.

Gabriel opens his mouth to answer, but then freezes, eyes widening impossibly.

“What? What’s wrong?” The hunter demands, visibly tensing.

It shouldn’t be possible. It’s simply inconceivable for that to happen, not to say that it has _never ever_ happened in his life span. And that’s a lot of time to go by.

“I… I can’t feel my Grace,” he whispers, still frozen in place.

“What?!” Sam’s chair creaks when he moves against the restraints. “What do you mean you can’t feel it?”

He’s having a hard time believing his own words himself, even after he spoke them out loud. Grace is what defines an angel; what remains when the vessel is gone; what keeps things under control.

There’s no Trickster without his tricks; there’s no _Gabriel_ without his _Grace_. It’s such a simple concept, such a fundamental notion, that it brings out a strong feeling of awe and not fear.

“I don’t know!” Gabriel snaps out of his shock, looking straight at Sam. “It’s just… gone.”

Sam’s eyes widen. “Gone?” he repeats. “Gone?”

“Yes, gone!” The archangel rises his voice, irked by the hunter’s momentarily stupidity, and only now that he’s moving (or wants to move) does he notice the restraints on his limbs. “Do I need to spell it in chinese? It’s gone, Sam. Not a single trace left behind. Nada. I’m just a dry orange now.”

“How? Why?” He splutters, because he can’t get his head around the absurdity of it.

Neither can Gabriel, but let’s not poke the subject too much, shall we?

“How should I know? I’ve been out ‘til five minutes ago, if you weren’t paying attention,” Gabriel drawls, sarcastically.

Sam sighs, trying to think logically. What happened before the lights went out? He remembers they decided to take the ingredient guarded by demons first, just because Gabriel was feeling particularly petulant and wanted to vent some of it on them. Then, they proceeded with the angel warded ones. They managed the first one, but on the second one something happened.

It was a triple trap--or triple warded. One for angels, another for demons, and the third one was… he doesn’t know what it was, but it knocked him unconscious.

Gabriel was waiting outside the cave, with the bag full of the other two ingredients, seemingly bored. The demons didn’t put up much of a fight, of course they didn’t. In the face of an archangel, even Crowley has a damn hard time getting out with his life barely hanging onto him.  

Sam remembers the mad rush of adrenaline that coursed through his body upon setting his foot inside the circle covered by sand. A prickling feeling pervaded his skin and a gush of wind knocked him on the ground, coming from the outside. He grunted, because his knees suffered the most at the moment of impact, and Gabriel was calling him, when the circles lighted up from underneath him and then… he doesn’t remember.

“What happened at the cave?” he asks, turning his head and looking Gabriel in the eye.

Gabriel takes a second to replay that memory in his mind. “I felt something was wrong when the wind picked up. When I turned you were on the ground and I called you, but you didn’t answer me, so when the cave was flooded by light and the distinct feeling of magic crashed into me, I stepped in and the wards activated. Then… I’ve no idea what happened and how we arrived here,” Gabriel says honestly.

“So it was a magical ward,” Sam concludes, eyes distant for a moment. He ignores the fact that Gabriel just revealed that he put himself in danger for him.

“Yep, that it was,” Gabriel affirms and even though he’s not smiling, it pours into his words.

“Seems like someone was very thorough in guarding those dragon teeth,” the hunter muses.

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Well, of course. They breed dispute if used the wrong way,” he says as if it’s the most common thing to know.

Sam frowns. “Wrong way? Is there a right way to use them?”

Now Gabriel smirks. “What we need ‘em for can be considered the right way.”

Sam looks at him for a few moments longer than necessary, before he remembers that they’re still very much tied up to chairs in a dingy, poorly illuminated room. He needs to gather his thoughts and try focusing on how to get both of them out of there.

As it seems, he can’t count on angelic help anymore, so it’s time to turn on his hunter mode.

“Ok,” Sam says, half a plan forming in his head. “We need to--” Is as far as he gets before the door swings open and two bulky men enter the room.

Both have their heads shaved clean and Sam can see black tattoos covering their arms and necks even in the faint light. There’s an air of danger around them and Sam’s instincts flare, but he reigns them in quickly, to let him assess the situation first.

The bulky men stop a mere step in front of them.

Sam looks up at the two figures, trying to determine if they’re monsters or just humans.

“You nasty cockroaches,” says the one in front of Gabriel, a disdainful smile on his lips, and Sam picks up subtle Southern inflections in his speech. “Tryin’ to steal what is ours. How dare you!” His eyes flash yellow, snake-like, and Sam knows.

Of course! How could he be so slow on the uptake?

Dragon teeth, three sets of wards, remote, inaccessible (unless you fly there) cave. It screams dragons.

They’ve been captured by dragons. Just peachy. What he needed to make his day.

To kill them they’d need a sword bathed in the blood of a dragon. No easy feat, what with them being restrained to creaky chairs and probably somewhere underground by the absence of windows. But that’s not urgent right now.

The same guy-- _dragon_ that spoke up, lifts his right hand, black claw-like nails already extended at the end of a forearm that has visibly changed color to an orange-red, and approaches Gabriel.

Sam’s sure the dragon will melt his face; he knows, because if that same hand can melt iron upon touching it, then Gabriel has slim to no chances of surviving. He will be despondent, unable to defend himself, because apparently he can’t count on his mojo any longer.

His Grace won’t _save him_. Not this time, not when he needs it the most, because Sam’s sure that Gabriel’s head will melt like a cheap candle. And he could do without that strong image in his mind right now, when the situation requires his abilities to think fast and act faster.

But Sam is freaking out. Positively and truly panicking. Adrenaline courses through his veins, heart throbbing loudly in his chest. The other guy says something, but Sam can’t hear him over the buzzing in his ears and the incessant whirl of thoughts pounding in his head in time with his heart.

It can’t happen again. He can’t lose Gabriel a second time. Not because he decided to help them once again, even after being brought back to life; not because he can’t fight back; not because he can’t heal himself; not because--

Sound, image and desperation are promptly swallowed up into whiteness for a moment. When they come back, the setting is completely different.

They find themselves standing in the middle of a deserted road, forest on both sides and the three-quarter full moon somewhere at their back.

Gabriel feels his shoulder being grasped by a huge hand as soon as the new environment appears in front of him and his arm shoots up to fist into Sam’s plaid jacket without a conscious thought; a reaction to the hunter’s action, he concludes, nothing more.

“What the hell?” Sam exhales the words, winded, and the archangel looks up at him.

Gabriel’s not better for the wear himself, if the breathing coming out in short pants is any indication. And then there’s his stomach that seems to be oddly upset. The remains of his last meal might have an impromptu meeting with the road, if he doesn’t calm his stomach down.

“No Grace my ass,” Sam says, irked, after they steady themselves.

“Hey, I didn’t lie about that,” the archangel defends himself, frowning and crossing his arms; he might not be able to prevent the emptying of his stomach, after all. “I really don’t have any Grace left.”

“Oh yeah? Then how did we end up here, wherever here is?” Sam rolls his eyes.

“I don’t know, but it wasn’t me.” He shakes his head.

They take a couple of minutes to conclude that yes, they’re in the middle of nowhere; yes, it’s somewhere past midnight by the position of the moon; yes, they’ve been out for several hours now; but no, Sam hasn’t even the faintest idea how they ended up where they are.

“Cas?” Sam tries to find an answer to their current problem. Better than to think about how reality likes to screw with Sam Winchester at every turn of a corner.

Gabriel lifts a skeptical eyebrow. “Do you see him anywhere ‘round? Or better still, does it look like your kind of motel room design?” His tone of voice is soaked in sarcasm; might be a side-effect of not having the situation under control anymore. “Why, that would be an improvement. But nope, this feels too real to be just cheap wallpaper.”

Sam sighs, but doesn’t summon the necessary energy to get angry with Gabriel. His brow is dipped in concentration, trying to find out other possible rescuers.

“Ana?”

“Your ribs, remember?” Gabriel says. “She can’t track you and she doesn’t know I’m still alive and about.”

“Zachariah?”

Gabriel’s face morphs into a hideous grimace, answer enough for Sam’s question.

“Michael?”

“Now you’re getting desperate.”

“Lu--”

“That’s it!” Gabriel interrupts him. “You’re officially diagnosed with Stockholm Syndrome.”

Sam lifts a questioning eyebrow. “He never kidnapped me.”

Gabriel flutters a hand dismissively. “Details.”

This is getting them nowhere and Sam starts to get frustrated.

“Okay,” the hunter says after some time of squeezing his brain in search for an answer. “We don’t know who saved us from those dragons--”

“It surely wasn’t me,” Gabriel interrupts quickly.

“I know!” Sam says exasperated.

“Then where are we?” the archangel - or former archangel - asks way too chipper for Sam’s liking.

“That’s my line,” he says petulantly. “And how should I--”

Sam feels an uncomfortable pull before it happens. Relying on his fast reflexes, he immediately catches Gabriel’s forearm, the horror of losing him back in full force, and he pulls Gabriel towards him with such a force that they stumble off the road and into the humid grass.

What Sam prevented from falling on Gabriel and crushing him to the ground like a particularly annoying ant that he is (at least the annoying part), was an enormous red maple tree which appeared out of thin air in the middle of the road.

“I’m not sure if you’re trying to kill me, now that you’ve got the chance, or help us get back to our brothers,” Gabriel says, a little bit winded from the tumble, looking back over his shoulder at the tall tree, now lying on the ground.

“Canada,” Sam says in a rush of breath; he knew where they were as soon as he felt the pull. “We’re in Canada. Somewhere. And I’m not trying to kill you.” He gets up from the mossy ground, dusting his denim. “You’ve just come back,” he murmurs half-heartedly.

“What was that?” Gabriel asks, but there’s amusement depicted in his voice and when Sam looks at him, he can see it in his eyes, too.

Then it quickly falls off, replaced by realization. Sam watches him warily, knowing there’s something coming his way that he definitely won’t like.

“It’s you,” Gabriel breathes.

“Me, what?” the hunter asks, a bit confused.

Now Gabriel’s gaze is completely focused on Sam, boring holes into his eyes. He never felt more uncomfortable reciprocating someone’s gaze as right now.

“You’re the one that got us out of the dragons’ den and made a maple tree appear in the middle of the road,” he simply states, crossing his arms and looking for all the world too smug for Sam’s liking.

“What?” Sam’s eyes are in danger of popping out of his sockets. “Don’t you think that’s too far-fetched? How could I possibly have done all that?”

Gabriel smirks. “Simple. My Grace. You’ve got my Grace.” His smirk gets bigger, entirely too amused for what his words imply. “Congrats, Sammy boy, now you’re unofficially an archangel. Use your powers wisely.”

Sam needs something to sustain his weight, because it has become impossible to do it himself, but since there’s nothing but smooth grass until the treeline, he unceremoniously plops down. He doesn’t know what to do with all that information. His thoughts are a bundle of questions and denial.

He’s curious and afraid, but also confused. That shouldn’t be possible. Well, none of this should have happened, to begin with. The task was simple, find those three ingredients and bring them back to the motel they were currently residing in. But no, of course nothing ever goes smoothly in Sam Winchester’s life. That’s a paradox in and of itself.

Something had to go wrong. The trip was proceeding uncharacteristically without bumps. So why not put a fucking hidden trap for every other creature non demonic or angelic, and see who’s the idiot that falls in, right?

The day started too well for Sam. That’s why he had to finish it with an archangel’s Grace dumped on him.

“Oh c’mon, kiddo,” Gabriel laments theatrically, looking down at the pile of hunter that’s brimming with thoughts; he doesn’t even need his powers to know that Sam’s a step away from panicking. “It’s not like it’s the end of the world.”

“Yes, it is,” he says grumpily and Gabriel is torn between cooing teasingly or kissing that pout off his face, which should raise some gigantic question marks, but strangely it doesn’t.

“You know, many people would be out of their skin at the notion of having powers far above any other being,” he tells the hunter, crouching down so he can be at the same eye level. Sam avoids making eye contact.

He doesn’t look like a person who hit the jackpot. Anything but. He looks like he caught a particularly nasty disease and there isn’t a cure for it. It stings, because that Grace is as much a part of Gabriel as is a limb for a human.

“You could have wiped out those dragons if you really wanted to.” Gabriel’s voice drops drastically, coming out soft and genuine. “Even if you weren’t aware you had the power to do so with a thought, you could have. But you chose instead to get us out of there.”

The younger Winchester hums noncommittally, but then his mind registers the odd tone of his voice.

He looks up at the archangel, surprised by the fact that he’s so close to Sam. So close and so vulnerable.

He’s not used to the warm smile that’s spread over Gabriel’s face, how it creates crinkles at the corners of his eyes upon touching them. Neither is he used to the little spark in his ancient, caramel pools, the fondness that Sam has never once seen in the archangel’s repertoire.

For a moment, he thinks that the guy in front of him is not Gabriel. Not the snarky smartass, with his easy smiles and quick tongue, mouth always occupied by a lollipop or candy, eyes glinting with mischief. It’s surely another person that’s crouched in front of him.

But then he catches the familiar lines in his expression, even if they’re faint, almost completely gone. The ones he’s been accustomed to in the past four months of stolen glances here and there, of staring at his back for longer times than would be considered normal.

He couldn’t help it.

He still couldn’t quite believe that Gabriel was back, alive and spitting nonsense every way he turned. Which resulted in furtive stares when the archangel was busy giving hell to Dean (just because Gabriel missed riling him up as only Gabriel knew how).

His expressions were the ones that stayed with Sam. Maybe because there was little diversity in them, they were easy to remember, but no. That’s not true. It was because each and every one was too carefully construed, too perfect even for an archangel that lived for so long among humans. Perfection doesn’t belong to humans. Gabriel, most of all, should have known that.

Amusement, mischievousness and petulance seemed to be the repertoire by which Gabriel moved around. But they also seemed to be hiding something.

What Sam’s seeing right now in front of him is something totally different and new. It’s all those masks morphed together but clear of every perfected line.

Sam’s probably looking at the first draft. Or maybe it’s something Gabriel hasn’t shown to anyone in a long time; he hasn’t had time to craft it into another mask, for it makes him look so open and genuine, younger and more--human. So unlike the Gabriel that smote those demons, all unmitigated, raw energy, eyes determined and full of ancient wisdom. So unlike the Gabriel, the _Trickster_ they all grew to know willingly or--

“Wait.” Sam stands up in a quick succession of limbs. Any crack in Gabriel’s mask is dutifully closed back up. “The ingredients. They’re still with the dragons. I managed to snatch the last--”

He was starting to work himself up again, but before he completed that sentence, a dull thump warned them of the presence of a worn-out brown leather bag a few feet at Sam’s right.

They both turned their heads in that direction upon hearing the noise and now they are staring mildly surprised at it. Well, Gabriel is. Sam’s staring at it as if it personally offended him.

“There you have it,” Gabriel says almost condescendingly. “Happy now?”

Sam rewards him with one of his many bitchfaces. “Shut it, Gabe.”

He isn’t even aware of the slipped nickname, choosing to go and take the bag, but it didn’t escape Gabriel’s attention. He decides to hide his surprise under his trademark smirk, when Sam turns to look at him.

“Alright, Grumpy, where to?”

ooo

The coffee shop Sam whisked them to is jam-packed with people.

Sam’s ears are assaulted by a cacophony of voices and other noises and Gabriel actually brings his hands up to block them for a second. Sam has to steady him when Gabriel wobbles on his own two feet. Neither comment on it.

It seems Gabriel isn’t used to this kind of noise without the adjustable sound button his Grace allows him to use. And it’s just another reason why Sam doesn’t like the new adjustment of power.

He’s used to have Gabriel be the know-it-all, powerful guy in the room, not Sam. Not that he knows how to use Gabriel’s Grace. It’s above and beyond him the mechanics of operating angelic energy. Does it work like a car engine? Or is it wild and free and it takes time to tame it?

Whichever the case is, it doesn’t matter. He won’t try to get used to it. It’s not his, and that’s the truth he sticks with. Not the good part. He’s aware that the Grace will reside in him only temporarily, until they make heads and tails of the problem to start searching for the solution.

Still, he can’t quite ignore the tiny part of him that’s giddy with the knowledge that an important part of Gabriel is within him.

It almost makes it all worth it.

“Well,” Gabriel drawls, looking around; a teenage girl bumps into him on her way out, but Gabriel ignores her hurried excuses. “What’s this? Midnight rush hour?”

Sam snorts, rolling his eyes as he tries to decide where the line ends to place themselves there, but he quickly gives up on the idea when the mass of people seem to form at least three mangled queues in front of the cashier.

Apparently, they’re not prepared to deal with this influx of people all at once, so they didn’t think that a second person behind the cashier will help things run faster and more efficiently than with only one person.

“At least we’re in a populated place,” Sam interjects, uncomfortable at the close proximity _everybody_ is; Gabriel especially. “Human populated.”

“Why, our dragon friends weren’t homey enough?” Gabriel jokes while the queue advances one step every blue moon.

“Don’t even get me started on how wrong that sounds,” he says dismayed, giving the archangel a sidelong glance.

Gabriel chuckles.

He finds he likes the new turnover. Rather than to feel himself confined to the flesh of his vessel, he feels a sort of freedom. Ironically, found in every quirk and emotion that make humans so--humane.

He used to taste atoms and molecules alike; he used to break the matter into pieces so tiny, not even the most advanced microscopes would have been able to pick them up. Now, he can sense only a faint trace of a passion fruit-flavored lollipop at the back of his mouth.

The smell of pastries and cheeseburgers, smoke and beer, pervade his nose brazenly, but nothing more than that, when he could recall whatever smell from whatever place on earth, now or five thousand years ago, and describe it in vivid detail. Or he could just stop breathing altogether and be done with it.

Now, breathing is not an option anymore.

The three-dimensional reality humans are used to is not new to Gabriel, but being able to see each soul whenever he wanted to was a small balm for the longing he felt towards his home. Thank his Dad he could turn it on and off at will, otherwise he would have died of homesickness a long time ago.

Though, if he has any say in this (and he does), the most wonderful human sense of all the others is his hearing.

He picks up nothing beyond the walls of the room, although he never really experienced such a loud amass of people. Are they deaf? They’re outright shouting at each other, even though they’re in close proximity to one another.

But it’s good; gleefully good, actually.

He can’t hear anything else besides the immediate noises; no background hum, no unwanted prayers and no beating hearts. Granted, he actually liked the sound of Sam’s heart, and not being able to listen to its particular undertone makes the new experience uncharacteristically lonely.

To humans, every heart beats the same. Of course, not the same intensity and rhythm, but it produces the same sound.

Not to Gabriel.

Or any other archangel, for that matter.

For him, every heart has a distinguished melodic note to it, and Sam’s had a unique one he liked to hear whenever he was upset or bored. Sometimes it was lulling; other times it was a crescendo. But always, always it kept an undertone to it that it was just _Sam_. It comforted Gabriel on a surprisingly deep level.

His musing is momentarily disrupted by the faint whiff of something sweet. It’s alluring and he can’t resist the temptation to snap his fingers and conjure a generous stick of cotton candy. He stops himself barely halfway through it.

The huff he releases makes him look like a grown petulant child, but Sam’s too far into his own world to pick up on Gabriel’s vexation. It should be against the law not being able to summon food at will. Sweets especially. The children population at large would agree with him.

It only means he’s left to follow the smell like a sniffer dog and see where it takes him. Hopefully to the source of the delicious scent.

Sam takes his eyes off Gabriel for just a moment and he’s gone. That’s technically impossible what with the human condition he’s forced to abide by. He turns around and around, scanning the crowd in search for the familiar dirty blonde crown of hair, but he doesn’t find it. His eyes dart from face to back to face again, never really committing them to memory, because not a single one of them is what-- _who_ he searches for.

Then Sam sees him.

For a split second.

The door closes behind what could have been Gabriel--or could have not.

Sam takes his chances and makes his way to the door; a torturously slow way, peppered with lots of ‘excuse me’ and ‘sorry’, because he’s no Moses and the sea won’t part for him anytime soon. He forgets he can mojo himself out of the shop, if he wishes it hard enough. Finding Gabriel is more important than logic right now.

A group of half-drunk men come pouring in, when Sam finally grasps the handle of the door. They obstruct Sam’s passageway, laughing and punching each other in a friendly manner, and Sam steps aside, lest he receives one of them.

When he stumbles on the sidewalk, Gabriel is nowhere to be seen.

He’s internally panicking, breath coming out in short pants. He can’t lose Gabriel just like that. Not again, not when the probability of dying so high in the human world and Gabriel is, in every sense of the word, a human.

A mere _fucking_ human. How did _that_ happen? Yes, he knows how, but really now. _How_?

He can’t deal with this, with how cosmically _wrong_ it all is.

He can’t deal with how unpredictable, unfair and _common_  street crimes are. He doesn’t _want_ to, because they’re the hardest to get over from. Gabriel could be assaulted in a dark alleyway, a car could ran him over, a homeless rabid dog could bite him to death or… or something might fall--

He stops breathing for a second, looking around at the buildings and their multi-colored signs and a annoying thought tells him he’s already been in that city.

Not getting any clues from the name of the street or the shops around, he has no choice but to ask a passerby, even if he might come on as scary or crazy. On the same note, the constant buzz just underneath his skin hasn’t ceased its nagging. He might have a clue as to what’s causing it, but priorities first.

“Excuse me,” he says, molding his tone into something as unthreatening as possible, hoping the smile he offers is not creepy and trying to make himself smaller than he really is.

The blonde young lady he stopped looks him over once, a mix of confusion and curiosity painted on her face. Good, no signs of alarm or worry.

“Could you please tell me what city this is?” he asks after he lets her take him in.

Now the lady lifts a skeptical eyebrow, unsure if Sam’s joking or if he’s actually serious.

“Please,” he adds, worrying his lower lip between his teeth and hoping Dean’s comments on his puppy eyes are true.

“Broward County,” she says at long last, still skeptical.

Sam blinks, pausing to process the name that rings a lot of bells.

“Broward County, Florida?” His tone of voice is incredulous.

She nods, and Sam’s losing himself to the memories.

The hundreds of times Dean died before his own eyes; ridiculous deaths, deaths that could happen to anyone, painful deaths that will be forever etched on the back of his eyelids. Sometimes he still has nightmares of that day and he’ll never regard Tuesdays with the same carefree mind he had before.

He can never know when Wednesday will stop coming.

Still, these revelations do not narrow down the possible places Gabriel might have wandered off to. Seriously now, how can one lose an archangel - or a human archangel - in a small city? The situation is so unbelievable he--

A strange noise echoes in his ears, separated from all the others around him. In and out, not constant. He turns on himself a couple of times, searching for the source of it with his eyes, but he finds nothing and he’s getting dizzy from all the pirouettes he’s done and some passers by give him strange looks.

Okay, it’s probably time to stop and find a less trafficked spot.

As he makes his way further down the street and turns a corner, the noise returns, louder and more defined now. It’s pounding and he realizes it’s in his own head that he hears it.

He stops, frowning. It’s not a beating heart he’s hearing, is it?

Of course it is and if he has to take a wild guess by the once in a while playful beat, as if it finds it amusing to thump half-measures every two or three completed ones, he’d say it’s Gabriel’s heart he’s hearing.

But before he has time to be properly awed by the new discovery, all kinds of beating hearts start pounding in his head, each and every one on a different frequency, with a different intensity; some are loud, almost making his head ache, and he just knows they belong to people in his close proximity, strangers but for this intimate aspect of them he now knows; others are faint, too far away to hear them properly, but he hears them nonetheless.

Then there are those that throb fiercely, desperately, grasping life with a fresh, untamed force. A smile tugs at his lips as he realizes they’re the beating hearts of newborns.

He’s hearing every human heart on the planet and he’s inexplicably filled with joy and love. All of it for those simple, normal thumps.

He didn’t know angels could hear their hearts, he didn’t know they could feel this intensely from those meagre sounds, that could become annoying at a certain point. But it never happens, because they’re not so simple as he thinks they are.

They have something special to them, something he’s not capable of pinpointing right now.

Right. Gabriel. He’s still missing. Unsettling knowledge, that.

He goes back to track that sneaky beat (he’s not sure when he took to call Gabriel’s heart that way, but no point in revising his attributives now), and when he finds it, he follows the sound blindly.

It’s the only lead he has to where Gabriel might be.

ooo

It’s curious how trusting his legs to carry him to the source of a smell brought him here.

The uncertainty, anticipation and a faint sense of fear surge forward once more at the sight of the familiar building. What he’s sure of, though, is that he’ll be damned before he’ll let his legs make decisions for him again. On the same note, his stomach seems to have calmed a bit, now just a faint reminder at the back of his mind.

The promise of cotton candy is long forgotten in the face of unwanted memories that come spilling forth in his mind. Memories he carefully locked away; memories of pain and cruelty, of a time when he thought he could beat some sense into a Winchester.

Fragments of past decisions he’s not entirely proud of. Sure, the loophole day was a particularly ingenious idea and watching Sam watch his brother die countless times before his eyes, unable to stop it, was a sight to behold.

But then it became more than a game and less than fun.

He knew about the Winchesters; he knew what they did and what their fate was, before they were even born. He only hoped they’d take the hint and work with Gabriel there, if only to be done with the Apocalypse. It became Gabriel’s own loophole day; Sunday lunches all over again. A loophole he was trying to escape from, just like Sam.

What he didn’t accounted for was the strong link between the brothers. He should have. After all, it reflected the link he himself had with Lucifer, long before his Fall.

Sam’s pleading for his brother’s life was the last straw. The game had long since lost its appeal to Gabriel, but he kept going, hoping that somewhere along the way Sam would understand, would finally accept his future harsh reality. One that didn’t involve Dean.

And Sam did understand. Just not in the way Gabriel had wanted him to.

Both wanted the same thing: humans to keep living their miserable lives in relative peace. But they had different means in mind to meet that end.

Gabriel relented when Sam’s desperate eyes, shamelessly swimming in tears, pleaded him to bring Dean back.

It resonated to Gabriel’s very core. That and the fact that he never really wanted to bring Sam to the brink of desperation; to see so much sorrow and pain depicted on his young features. But they were both stubborn, not by default, but forced by reasons that mattered to each of them--and they clashed.

It made Gabriel hate himself for a long time. And even to this day he didn’t really forgive himself for hurting Sam in the cruelest ways possible.

He turns when he feels himself being watched; even with his senses dimed to a boring limit, it seems humans can still feel an echo of an angel’s awareness. He smiles a little when he takes in a worried Sam, slightly winded, cheeks rosy from the chilly air.

Right then and there the loneliness he learned to keep at bay starts spreading within him like a drop of ink in a glass of water. It’s partly his fault; on a good day he has a strong hold of his emotions. Now, with all that happened-- _still_ happens, his defenses are at their weakest.

He pushes the loneliness back in its tiny niche in the infinite wall of emotions that he created for his own sanity, and deliberately concentrates on Sam’s expression, on the relief in his eyes and lips shiny from wetting them constantly, unconsciously.

Damn. He should have guessed the big guy would have searched for him like a mad. It warms Gabriel to think that Sam is still able to look at him with no trace of despise or suspicion.

“I was following an amazing scent of cotton candy when I found myself sidetracked… here,” he tells Sam, voice quiet and uncharacteristically void of energy. The silence is frighteningly unbearable, even with Sam so close to him.

They both look up at the building and its bright colors even in the street lamp’s dirty light.

“It’s Tuesday today,” Sam whispers, as if afraid that the acknowledge might bring back the past.

Gabriel smiles wanly. “Is it?”

He doesn’t comment further. They seem to have thought, more or less, about the same things. Gabriel doesn’t want to put sound to them; it might turn out too painful for him and even if they’re not happy memories they relive in their own minds, they’re still memories they’ve shared. For Gabriel, that’s enough to make them worth remembering.

He found an old, but new Sam when he returned from the dead (a mystery even to himself, but he has his suspicions). Old, because he still looked the same as he remembered him, although his hair was longer and there were a few lines on his face that he didn’t remember there before; traces of fatigue and many sleepless nights, he concluded a second after his eyes took Sam in.

What intrigued Gabriel was the new Sam. Or maybe it was the same one, and it was just him that created a distorted version of the young hunter in his mind.

The one he met a second time after the Elysian Fields debris, was a still guarded Sam, yes, but with a desire to forgive and to start anew. Forgive Gabriel, forgive what has passed between them and turn a new page in their freshly-adjusted relationship--or acquaintance.

It’s still ambiguous as to where they stand.

“Won’t you ask me how I found you?” Sam says, looking at him from the corner of his eye.

Gabriel turns halfway to regard Sam inquisitively, choosing to search the answer in the lines of his face rather than simply ask for it. A few seconds later, his slightly dipped brow smooths and a small smile appears in the corner of his mouth.

“You heard my heart,” he states, returning to the building and Sam might be wrong, but he swears he caught traces of fondness in his voice.

“Yeah,” Sam affirms. “Yours and a few other billions. You never said you could do that.”

“You never asked.” Is Gabriel’s answer, shrugging half-heartedly.

“It’s simultaneously amazing and terrifying.” Sam has an incredulous smile adorning his lips now and Gabriel drinks it in as if he’s dying of thirst. “It fills you so completely you start thinking you’ll explode any moment now, but it never happens, and you never tire of… of hearing--”

“Yeah, I know,” Gabriel interrupts, eyes distant, almost longing.

Sam turns to look straight at the archangel. “I guess I wouldn’t have been able to comprehend the feeling if you would have explained it to me.”

“It’s something you have to feel on your own to understand,” Gabriel adds, chancing a glance at Sam and catching only awe and glee and curiosity.

He looks so much younger, so much like a child, it makes something in Gabriel’s chest throb.

“Now I know why Cas sometimes has that faint smile on--”

“He can’t,” Gabriel abruptly interrupts him. “Castiel is not able to hear them. He and the other angels can only see your soul. Only archangels have this,” a pause to search for the right word, “privilege.”

Sam’s eyes widen at the implication of those words.

“You mean only you and…” he cuts himself off, waving his hand uncertainly.

“Yeah, only us four,” the archangel aquisces, then smiles wanly. “It was a gift from Dad. For us to be… closer to you.” He swallows. Only if it were that simple to swallow his memories, too, and never have them at the fore of his mind.

He looks at the sky; few stars can be seen from where he is, what with the light pollution from the city.

It’s painful for him to remember those times, the very first few days after his Dad created Adam, then Eve.

He smiles when he thinks about the ‘gossip’ he eavesdropped on that ran among the guardians of the Eden (and a few other lesser angels) about the two humans his Dad breathed life into.

The recurring joke (later on he labelled it like that, because even to this day he still finds it funny) among the guardians of the Garden said that the reason for the creation of Eve was his Dad’s atonement for creating the Man. In other words, Eve was supposed to be the perfect creation He intended all along.

The joke ran only in hushed whispers when the stars were high in the sky and God’s last creations were asleep.

Eavesdropping had been Gabriel’s favorite pastime when he unwillingly stumbled upon a conversation and remained hidden for its entire duration. He found he liked what he could find out about his siblings without visibly being present at their conversations.

What can he say? Angels, too, had to have a bit of fun now and again, when dawn was still ways away. Gabriel found some of them quite entertaining--and of course those same few were among the angels that sided with Lucifer in his folly.

He calls it folly, but the truth is he still doesn’t want to acknowledge the gravity of his brother’s decision.

He shouldn’t think of him, of certain memories that trigger only pain and longing. He shouldn’t remember that Lucifer was the first one to have ever caught him eavesdropping, to have ever laughed at Gabriel’s stammering (careful to avoid lies, which only forced him to bend just a teeny weeny bit the truth) when he didn’t know what to say in his defence.

A lonely tear slides from the corner of his left eye, unseen by anyone; felt only by Gabriel. It disappears into his hairline.

When Lucifer had subtly taught him how to perfect the eavesdropping, how to create diversities to save himself the trouble of being caught.

When…

But the past cannot, and will never return. That’s one of the first lessons his Dad taught them after creating the humans.

“For Lucifer is a curse now,” he says out of the blue.

He can only imagine how Lucifer is feeling, down in his Cage, hearing the beating hearts but unable to feel their warmth and joy, just hollowness and a sense of loneliness far greater than Gabriel has ever felt since he resolutely cut off every connections with his home.

Sam is silent beside him and when he glances up at the hunter, all the simmering energy he had in his eyes is faded to a boring, sad light reflected from the street lamp.

Gabriel wants the childlike Sam back. He wants to atone somehow for the slip of tongue that caused that grim expression on his face.

“We should move on,” Gabriel tells him, hands deep in his jeans pockets.

Sam looks down at him, confused as to what he’s referring to. Gabriel’s not sure himself. It sort of came out of nowhere. But the true meaning of those words hangs heavy in the chilly autumn air.

Gabriel’s pointed stare is enough to clue him in. They’re both smart enough to understand each other, even when few words are spoken between them.

In the end, Sam decides to take the easy way out, trusting the Grace to do the rest.

ooo

This time Sam knows where they are, even if he has no idea why this city.

Is Gabriel’s Grace trying to tell him something?

Does Grace even have a mind of its own?

Maybe it got twisted from being used to do dirty tricks for so long, it acquired a perverse sense of humour. Otherwise he can’t explain to himself the reason why they’re currently on a trafficked street in Muncie, Indiana.

The place where Gabriel died.

Okay, the _city_ where he clashed swords with Lucifer and--lost. He’ll never forget the name of that hotel. A lot of things happened that day; a lot of feelings came to pass within Sam, leaving behind a truly confused hunter.

“You’re getting the hang of my Grace, kiddo,” Gabriel smirks, but his face has an ill color.

“Yeah, I wish,” Sam says, and wants to ask if Gabriel’s all right, but Gabriel dismisses him wordlessly as he starts walking. “It’s more like it has a mind of its own, but uses me as a guide or something.”

They silently agree to search for a motel room. Yes, search. On foot. No mojo-ing either of them anywhere, no use of Gabriel’s powers for _anything_. Sam’s too afraid of doing it, seeing as what letting the decision to an inanimate thing resulted in.

Gabriel is silent for a good part of their walk. “I think my Grace is taking you as a temporary host. It didn’t spread all over, taking possession of your every cell, as it did with this body,” he makes a small gesture towards himself, “so it leaves you unaware of its presence inside you. It’s there but… restrained.” He tilts his head slightly to one side, calculating his words.

“Okay, if it’s restrained, then how come it manifests itself more and more frequently?” Sam asks as they cross on the other side of the street.

He wants to say something about the ill state Gabriel seems to be in, but he’s interrupted by the archangel himself.

Gabriel sighs. “I don’t know. It’s as confusing to me as it is to you, kiddo,” he says, tone serious, turning a third corner. “I’m trying to explain it as simply as I can.”

Truth is, Gabriel has no idea what his Grace is doing. This is unprecedented. And as serious as the situation is, he can’t help but have fun with his newly dimmed senses, although the strong sense of nausea he feels right now isn’t fun at all.

The world isn’t anymore a constant hum at the back of his head, which is a first.

Back when they appeared on the road, he experienced a short moment of complete and utter silence, both interior and exterior. It was something that never happened to him. Not once in his entire millenar life.

They cross another street and make their way into the parking lot of a motel.

As soon as Gabriel steps into the motel room, he breaks into a run for the bathroom, emptying the contents of his stomach.

ooo

The phone rings for four times before it connects.

“Sammy, where the hell are you?” Dean asks, irked and tired, not waiting for his brother to say something.

It’s three o’clock in the morning and both he and Gabriel should have been there hours ago. Castiel assured him that the ingredients weren’t hard to retrieve, not with the help of Gabriel. Even if he trusted Cas a great deal, he couldn’t help but feel a little reluctant in extending the same trust towards the archangel.

The phone is silent for some time and Dean is about to check and see if the line went dead, when an unfamiliar voice says, “You filthy cockroaches will pay for stealing them!”

For a second, Dean’s blood freezes in his veins, dread and the worst case scenarios passing in quick succession before his eyes. Then it retakes its course in a mad rush, and the hunter feels himself filling up with an unquenchable rage.

“Who the fuck are you?” He thunders in the phone and Cas stops practicing the words, turning his head around to look at Dean in concern.

Dean doesn’t receive an answer, the line going dead shortly after.

His blood roars in his ears and he barely contains his need to smash the phone on the wall. He still needs it, now that he knows something happened to his little brother. Fear replaces his rage and he looks up at Cas.

There’s a question in his angel’s deep blues. The response is written all over Dean’s face. They don’t need words to make it clear.

Cas frowns, his eyes going distant for a moment.

“I can’t pinpoint Gabriel,” he says after a minute.

“What do you mean?”

“His Grace…” Cas trails off, unsure. “It flickers in and out. It’s faint, as if it’s not used properly.”

ooo

They’ve managed to rent a room for free. When Gabriel told Sam that he was the reason why the lady offered them the room, he remained stone-frozen for a good minute and then proceeded to drown himself in a sea of guilt. At which Gabriel rolled his eyes. Repeatedly.

The kid really needed to loosen up a notch.

When Gabriel comes out of the bathroom, face flushed from the exertion and damp, Sam is sitting at the only table in the room, looking both bemused and curious about the green lollipop that’s suspended in mid-air.

“Are you alright?” Sam asks as soon as he sees the archangel.

But Gabriel completely ignores the hunter’s concern as he stops a mere step away from Sam. Something outrageous is happening before his eyes.

“Did you just conjure a salad-flavored lollipop?” The words rush out in a disbelieving tone.

The lollipop is floating between them as if there’s no shame in being green-flavoured, and Gabriel dares to poke it slightly, almost fearfully, as if it’s a new species of an animal and he doesn’t know how it’ll react.

“I didn’t,” Sam says defensively, looking at the floating lollipop in question. “It just… appeared out of nowhere.”

Gabriel narrows his eyes on Sam. “If there’s one thing you should know about my powers, kiddo, is that   _nothing_ pops up without a conscious act of...” he trails off, eyes distant. “You’re hungry,” he states, focusing his gaze on the hunter.

“I’m…” Sam starts to deny, but on a second check, his stomach grumbles. “I am.”

“Why a veggie lollipop of all things?” Gabriel laments, plopping on the motel bed. “Where did Dean go wrong in your upbringing?” he asks rhetorically.

“Hey!” Sam frowns. “It’s not my fault I’ve woken up with your powers. I don’t know how to stop it!”

“That’s the problem!” Gabriel rises, and even if, technically, he isn’t an archangel anymore, his gaze is still as intense as if he were, when he looks Sam straight in the eye. “You’re not me. Of course you’re not me,” he says more to himself, as if just now it dawned on him. “Never before has this kind of thing happened, so I’m not sure, but from what I can tell, my Grace reacts to your baser instincts. Hunger, thirst, survival instinct… sex drive.”

Sam quirks an eyebrow at the last part and Gabriel puts his hands up in a defensive way.

“Hey, it’s not me who created you this way.” He shrugs. “Although you do come with pretty unique quirks,” he adds, winking.

Sam sighs, ignoring his last comment. “What are we going to do, now?” he asks. “You’re power _less_ and prone to dying and I’m power _ful_ but with no control over my new powers whatsoever.”

Gabriel smirks. “It’ll be so fun to watch your brother’s expression when you’ll involuntarily change his Led Zeppelin to some modern pop song. Should be a sight to behold. I wonder if it’ll outmatch your bitchfaces.”

Sam frowns. “I don’t have a bitchface.”

“Of course not,” Gabriel says, fluttering a hand dismissively. “You have thousands of them,” he adds shortly after and looks at Sam intently for the signs of... “Aaaand there it is,” Gabriel claps his hands once, gleefully. “Bitchface number I-lost-count-of-’em,” he teases.

Sam glares at him, but then sighs, giving up on trying to reason with a five-year-old trapped in a mature-looking guy. It just seems like such a waste of breath. Instead, he decides to change the topic of conversation.

He sits on the other bed, facing Gabriel. His stomach still bothers him, but for now he pays it no mind.

“Why are you so chipper?” he asks, all serious angles. “You’re defenseless now. Just a human being like the rest of us. Shouldn’t you fight tooth and nail to get back your power?”

Gabriel shrugs, avoiding his gaze. “Maybe I don’t want it back.” He focuses his eyes on Sam’s again. “Maybe I’m content to be like you.”

Sam stares at him, momentarily stunned. He hadn’t thought about that. He hadn’t put into account that maybe Gabriel would much rather prefer to be just a human being than the Messenger of God or the Trickster. They’re all fun and games.

Until they’re not.

Sam snorts ungracefully. “Like me--us. Including the nausea you get for being flown from one place to another, because that was the cause of your throwing up, I’m sure.”

Gabriel shrugs, the perfect picture of nonchalance. “I could get used to that, too.”

“So that’s it,” Sam says, surprised. “You’re giving up on being the Trickster, on being the Messenger of--”

“Blah, blah, blah.” Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Too many titles there, kiddo. And no, I’m not giving up on my Grace.” Yawn. “I’ll take it back.” He lies on his side on the bed and then worms his way up, using only his legs to push his body up until his head touches the pillow.

The movement is so ridiculous, especially performed by Gabriel, that Sam can’t fight back the amused smile that softly creeps on his face.

“Yeah? When?” Sam asks, but Gabriel’s eyes are already closed.

“In a bit…” he murmurs.

It takes no longer than a minute for Sam to hear the archangel’s deep breaths, already fast asleep. The notion is so strange. He would have never put sleep in the same category of things that define or can appeal to an archangel.

To Gabriel.

They don’t need sleep. They don’t need to recharge their batteries.

But then again, they’re celestial beings, pumped with unlimited energy. Right now Gabriel is no more, no less than a human. Made of flesh and bone, fragile.

The thought is more than enough to make his breath stutter. His gaze hasn’t left the sleeping archangel’s face since he pushed himself up the bed, and now a new batch of worry is spilling within him, more fierce than the previous one.

Gabriel stirs a bit, then turns to lie on his back, his left hand loosely splayed on the side of his stomach, while the other is bent on the pillow next to his head. Sam watches every twitch closely, and only when Gabriel sighs contentedly, does the hunter pull the duvet from his bed to cover the archangel.

He hesitates a second, hands still keeping the somewhat rough material over Gabriel’s chest. Sam looks at him, at the lax expression on his face, every line smoothed, lips ajar and the soft breath that ghosts over his knuckles. How can he be so relaxed when he could be in danger any moment now? It probably says more on the huge amount of trust Gabriel has in Sam than on him being carefree, he reasons.

The hunter swallows, the lump in his throat hard to ignore. He decides wisely that it’s best to put a bit of distance between them and leave the matter to cool for some time. He settles himself on his own bed, legs crossed, facing Gabriel.

He knows what he’ll do with the remaining of the night.

ooo

Sam is there when Gabe starts to come back from dreamland. He catches the first stirs of wakefulness, the soft sighs, the first time his eyelids open, unfocused, on the ceiling, the small grunts as he stretches, not unlike a cat. All of this a couple of hours after the sun has raised.  

Gabriel is a late morning person, of course he is. Now Sam’s wondering how could he have thought otherwise. It perfectly matches the archangel’s personality. A trail of candy wrappers behind and a late start of the day. It screams Gabriel.

But then, while he watches the shorter man return back to his senses, rolling over to face Sam and making a pleased surprised face at the sight of the hunter, something occurs to Sam.

Well, two things, actually.

The first one is bad and it makes him feel like his stomach dropped into his shoes, because a night of turning this way and that way thoughts, expressions and quirks, has done more bad than good to Sam’s peace of mind.

The second one is worse, and it involves his brother.

He jumps out of the bed, having sat in the same position for the entirety of the night - and a good part of the morning - and feeling no stiff muscles anywhere. His eyes are wide and frantic and Gabriel sits up immediately, worry and alarm interlaced as he watches Sam begin to walk back and forth at the feet of the twin beds.

Before Gabriel can utter a word, Sam already fires, “I need a phone. Like five hours ago!”

“Cool your jets, kiddo. Where’s the fire?” the archangel says, his voice gruff from sleep and Sam actually stops dead in his tracks and looks at him surprised; by what? Gabriel has no idea (but he’d like to know).

“Fire?” he asks, looking as if he’s running solely on caffeine. “What fire? This is worse than a fire.” By now, Sam has taken to flail his hands around, his entire body a buzzing congregation of muscles and bones.

Now Gabriel is approaching the frantic hunter with a new kind of worry. He never saw Sam this stressed before.

“I need a phone, Gabriel!” he says urgently and before Gabe can ask what for, an honest to god mobile phone materialises in his hands.

Sam stares down at it, shocked.

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Ask, and you shall be given,” he drawls sarcastically.

But Sam is already busy, typing something in a quick succession of thumbs.

He waits. They both wait in a suspended silence as Sam’s new phone is pressed against his ear.

“Dean!” Sam says apprehensively; so that’s where the fire was. “It’s me, Sam.”

Gabriel is about to roll his eyes again, because he--Sam worked him up for nothing, when Sam pulls the phone away from his ear as Dean’s unmistaken voice breaks loose from the receiver.

“ _Where the hell have you been, Sammy!?_ ”

Sam visibly winces and after a couple more cusses from Dean, the high level of his voice seemingly dying out, he puts the mobile phone against his ear once again.

“We’ve been kidnapped by a pair of dragons,” Sam says, and even if Dean isn’t shouting anymore, Gabriel can still hear him clearly in the deafening silence of the room.

“ _What? What the fuck happened? Where was Gabriel?_ ”

“With me,” he responds, trying to calm down his brother.

Gabriel’s fingers twitch with the need of snapping up some candy, because this show needs some, but unfortunately his candy-enabler is currently curled up around Sam’s soul, the traitor.

“Something happened at the last angel warded ingredient,” Sam continues, “I don’t know what exactly. I’ve been knocked out. Both of us,” he adds, after a split second of hesitation.

“ _Knocked out? Both of you?_ ”

The disbelief in Dean’s voice is glaring and Gabriel allows himself to roll his eyes. He’s watching Sam’s face intently, reading him like an open book, because Sam’s concentrated on what’s happening on the other side, brow furrowed, so he doesn’t pay Gabriel any attention.

Sam’s features relax a moment later and the signs of recognition appear on his face.

It’s easy to deduce what has happened.

An emotionally-stunned little brother wrestled the phone out of Dean’s clenched fists. But knowing Castiel, he more likely stared intensely until Dean accepted his defeat and passed him the phone.

This time he can’t make out the words on the other line and Sam’s short answers aren’t very helpful, so Gabriel sighs and goes to plop down on his bed, face first. He finds it strange, now that his attention isn’t resolutely focused on the hunter, that Sam’s duvet is on his bed.

He frowns, but elects to not bring it up. He’s not someone who’s used to receive kindness, but he might let it slip--just this time. He’s distracted by the unusual heaviness of his limbs and with no candy to keep him busy, going back to sleep doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.

He’s actually surprised how the slumber clings to him still and he can’t bring himself to be annoyed by it. He’s about to fall asleep, when something prods his shoulder.

“They’ll be here any second now,” Sam tells him quietly and Gabriel grunts in response but doesn’t move otherwise.

Sam’s jaw works for a bit, mouth opening to form words, but none come out. He wants to talk to Gabriel about a lot of things or, rather, one thing in particular that started nagging him for some time now and he doesn’t know how to open the subject.

He stares at the archangel’s back, completely at a loss for words. When nothing happens, nothing moves, he releases a small sigh and heads for the window. Midway there, though, he feels something, as if someone just passed him by and touched him lightly, and he swiftly changes his direction.

He isn’t aware of what he’s doing until the door is open and a still furious Dean and a mildly curious Castiel stand on the doorstep.

“Dean…” Is all Sam manages to utter, before being pulled into a tight hug.

It’s actually very tight. If Dean doesn’t let him go soon, he’ll surely pass out from lack of oxygen.

And then, one moment Dean is hugging the life out of Sam, the next he’s falling over Gabriel.

Both Sam and Cas look wide eyed at each other, the space between them empty of Dean. Both for different reasons. But before Cas can say something in regard, he’s interrupted by his brother’s voice.

“If you wanted a bed, you should’ve booked a room, Shothead,” Gabriel says, his words muffled by the pillow.

Dean splutters, scrambling to get off the apparently sleeping archangel. In the meantime, Cas decided to enter the room, confusion written all over his face. Sam is standing a foot behind him and Dean’s bewildered eyes settle on his brother.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Sam takes a deep, steadying breath and glances at the inert pile of archangel, who hasn’t moved a muscle ever since he lay there. He seems like he doesn’t have a care in the world, but if he looks carefully, he’ll discover that there’s a tense air about him, cleverly concealed behind a carefree appearance.

“Long story short, I have Gabriel’s Grace,” Sam says in one breath.

Two sets of expressions light up at the same time.

To say Dean is shocked, would be the understatement of the year; it’s something way beyond that, as if Sam’s words weren’t successful in getting through to his brain. Cas’ is the exact opposite; a sudden understanding clearing his furrowed brow.

“That explains why Gabriel’s Grace flickered in and out.” Cas is the first to speak up after the silence settles for a short time, preceding Dean by a couple of seconds.

“What?” Dean finally erupts, ignoring the side-comment, and then he turns towards Cas. “We need to take it out. Immediately!”

“Hold your horses, bucko,” Gabe says, raising from the bed and looking at Dean with a laser-focused gaze.

Sam’s silently grateful he’s not the target to that gaze anymore, although he can’t suppress the small shiver that runs down his spine at the sight of the archangel. He still retains that authoritative and powerful aura about him, even human as he is right now.

“My Grace needs to come out willingly,” Gabriel tells Dean, a cold edge to his words, “if you don’t want to damage Sam’s soul.”

Dean narrows his eyes, words coming out laced with burned, suppressed anger, “Is that a threat?”

“Dean,” Cas intercedes. “Gabriel is right. His Grace is latched onto Sam’s soul to the point of mingling together.”

Sam is at a loss for words, watching how they’re talking as if he wasn’t in the same room. It’s kind of irritating, to be honest.

“What if I don’t want it out?” He has no idea why he blurted that out, but the damage has been done.

Both Dean’s and Gabe’s heads whip around at the same time, shock depicted on their faces. Cas looks at Sam calmly, as if he was expecting something like that to come out of his mouth.

He has no time to mentally kick himself for it, because in the next moment Dean is in front of him, few centimeters separating their bodies. For once in his life, Sam finds the close proximity between himself and his brother, unnerving.

He doesn’t have time to spare a glance at Gabriel - his sudden tense body, expression entirely focused on the two of them, as if ready to pounce should it be needed - because his attention is resolutely focused on Dean.

“Are you out of your mind, Sammy?” Dean hisses, and Sam takes a step back to breathe a bit. “Have you forgotten what happened with Ruby? Do you want to go back there? You don’t even know what this freakin’ mojo will do to you, if you continue--”

It’s too much for Sam. He tunes out the rest of Dean’s words, because the lecture awakens painful memories in him, and he doesn’t want to deal with the past right now. It’s not fair. _Dean_ ’s not fair. He’s using Sam’s guilt to make him hate himself even more; to make him think he has no chance at redemption.

His mind is on a loop of ‘stop it, get out, get out, stop talking’, until it reaches its climax and something snaps somewhere, a deafening silence befalling the room.

When he opens his eyes, Dean is gone. He stares at the empty space where his brother was but mere seconds ago and realizes it was him that sent Dean away, but he doesn’t know where and he starts panicking, because that wasn’t his intention--well, yeah, it was, but not like that, not… who knows where his brother is right now, if he’s on a deserted island or in the middle of Alaska, freezing to death--

“He’s back in the motel room.” Cas’ voice filters through his rampant thoughts and Sam’s eyes snap up to meet oceanic blue.

“Castiel,” Gabriel hisses, tone uncharacteristically hard, laced with warning.

The angel looks back at his brother confused. “I didn’t read his thoughts,” he says honestly, picking up on Gabriel’s flare of protectiveness.

The archangel’s shoulders visibly relax, although his expression still retains the stone-hard angles and instead of molten gold, his eyes turned into a darkened amber.

Castiel feels his wings flutter nervously on the plane he keeps them, even if his face remains as stoic as ever as he doesn’t dare to break the eye contact with Gabriel. When it comes down to it, archangels are more powerful than mere angels, so it’s disrespectful to avert one’s eyes before the archangel in question does.

Gabriel glares at his little brother a bit more, before finally looking away and settling himself against his bed’s headboard.

“Dean is safe, Sam,” Castiel reassures again, but Sam is more curious about the sparks of input he receives from the angel.

He doesn’t know what to do with them, how to convey what he receives into something he can understand. He has a vague feeling of discomfort, but other than that he can’t make heads or tails of the erratic outbursts of energy he picks from Castiel.

Sam makes the mistake of turning towards Gabriel for answers.

He’s met with a set of calm, cold brown. It makes Sam feel uncomfortable and guilty, as if he did something he wasn’t supposed to do and upset Gabriel. Only when the archangel seems to realize that it’s Sam he’s looking at and not Castiel, does he soften the hard angles of his face into a barely-there smile. It reaches his eyes.

Sam almost sags in relief when Gabriel returns to himself. But now that the tension dissipates, Gabriel’s unusual quietness sends a pang of worry to Sam’s insides. Honestly, he’s been behaving himself ever since the whole Grace-transfert thing happened and that’s not how Sam knows Gabriel deals with things.

Granted, from what he gathered so far on the archangel, he has never experienced the human part of his vessel; at least not without his Grace still simmering inside.

Sam glances at Castiel, the silence on his side also worrying and catches the tell-tales of discomfort and something that resembles fear. He wants to say something, anything, to break the heavy atmosphere that surrounds them, so he remembers the bag that’s on the table behind him and latches onto that like it’s a life-saver.

“Here, the ingredients.” Sam takes it and offers it to Cas. “Now the spell can be completed,” he says, attempting to smile and feeling like he’s grimacing at his friend.

Cas regards him for a second, then he reluctantly takes the bag from Sam’s hands. “I don’t think the spell is still a priority right now,” he tells the hunter, then turns to look at Gabriel. “How did it happen?”

The archangel takes some time to finally dislodge his gaze from Sam’s face and look at his little brother properly. He shrugs, but recounts the story as best as he can, keeping his voice neutral. It seems that whatever transpired between them, they chose to leave it at that.

Cas nods in when Gabriel finishes, but Sam’s not sure if he really _understands_ the mess they went through (and in part, are still going through).

“You never told us of the hidden third trap inside the cave.” Sam’s words somehow manage to come out less accusing than they were in his mind.

“Third?” Cas asks, clearly befuddled.

“Yes. Inside the cave, covered in sand, there was another ward of some sorts. It flashed as soon as I stepped inside and everything went white.”

“Then there were the dragons,” Gabriel drawls and Cas throws him a confused glance.

“When we woke up,” Sam clarifies. “we were tied to chairs. These two dudes came in and started accusing us of stealing something of theirs, which could only mean that the last object, the dragon teeth, belonged to them.”

Castiel’s eyes grow distant for a while, his body stilling, then he lifts his chin up a bit, focusing his gaze on Sam.

“I need to get back to Dean,” he says, and Gabe snorts. “This needs to be looked into carefully.” He pauses, looking a bit conflicted. “I think it will be best if you two remain here for the time being.”

Then he disappears.

Sam stares at the now empty space where Cas has been a split second ago. He was about to offer his help for the search, but it seemed Cas was in a hurry. Well, he’ll have his hands full with a sulking hunter, that he’s sure of.

He sighs and turns to look at Gabriel, but the archangel’s eyes are closed, head resting against the wall. He looks more relaxed than when their brothers were there.

“I’m hungry,” he says, not opening his eyes.

“Me too.”

“Take out?” Gabe offers.

“Thai?” Sam suggest.

Gabe smiles and cracks open one eye. “Deal.”

The two boxes of Thai lunch appear on Sam’s bed, freshly cooked and steaming. They both take their own, settling comfortably on their beds, and dig in without saying another word.

ooo

They’re left alone for the rest of the day. No calls from Dean and no impromptu visits from Cas. So there’s nothing to do but lie around and wait. What for, they’re not sure, but Gabriel seems content to doze off on the bed.

Sam tried to hocus pocus a laptop to do some research of his own at some point, but after an hour of concentrating hard on conjuring one (with Gabriel being more unhelpful than ever, keeping up his ‘you’re not concentrating hard enough’ tirade as if he were some kind of distorted copy of Yoda) he gave up.

Truth to be told, the archangel was strange for the majority of the day. Oddly quiet and serious. It may have been the sudden change from a celestial being to a simple human or the little altercation between him and Castiel, but Sam doesn’t think either of them had such an impact to trigger Gabriel’s uncharacteristic behaviour.

Even when Sam tried to strike a conversation with Gabriel about this or that, he only ever gave short answers and didn’t even rise to the bait when Sam said something scathing that normally would have pulled out at least a snarky remark in return.

Nothing. He kept his eyes closed for the better part of the day.

Around four in the afternoon, an idea occurs to Sam.

“I need something hard,” he muses out loud, drawing the other’s attention.

Gabriel is on his back, both hands tucked beneath his head, and he looks down at Sam, fake mortification splayed on his face. He didn’t move from his bed the entire day, save for using the loo once.

Sam gives him a half-assed bitchface. “Like a drink,” he explains.

Gabriel smirks. “Then have at it, Sasquatch,” he tells him, closing his eyes. “I ain’t gonna be the one to stop you from loosening up a notch.”

Sam almost murmurs who’s going to ‘loosen up a notch’, but thankfully he catches himself before his little plan goes into flames.

He looks at the clean, smooth surface of the table and concentrates. The smell, the taste, the feel of a cool beer, all come at the fore of his mind without much effort and in no time two bottles appear on the hard surface before him. Uncapped, too.

Well, if he didn’t know better, he’d be inclined to say that Gabriel’s Grace might prefer a drunk host over a lucid one.

Sam heaves a disbelieved sigh. “I think your Grace has some priorities mixed up,” he tells the archangel.

Gabriel huffs. “Oh, my priorities are alright. Yours might be all over the place, so my Grace copes as best as it can.”

Sam lifts an eyebrow. “Really? So I’d think that having a laptop at hand for research on something that could help _both of us_ get out of this mess is on the bottom of the list, and having cool beer at disposal is at the top?” he asks, disbelief and sarcasm mingled up.

Gabriel just shrugs, a small smirk in place.

The hunter shakes his head, although an amused smile plays at the corners of his lips. He takes a swig of his beer, and it tastes better than the ones he’s drunk with Dean. Far better. He looks at the bottle, trying to read the unfamiliar words. With his limited knowledge of foreign languages, he takes a wild guess and concludes that it’s german beer. Or something close to it.

He gives a sidelong glance at the now sitting archangel. “Won’t you join me?” he asks casually, stretching his legs under the table. “You should try this brand, it’s--”

“I don’t drink,” Gabriel interrupts flatly, but he eyes the other bottle that’s still very much untouched with interest.

“Maybe _Gabriel_ doesn’t,” Sam intones, electing to leave the underlying message in the air.

Gabriel gets off the bed and makes his way to where Sam is.

“I don’t drink because it’s wasted on me,” he adds, but he sits on the other chair and takes the cold beer in his hand, looking at it curiously.

Sam watches Gabriel’s face intently, because this is certainly something new. An archangel that never had a beer? Oh, you bet he’s going to see this through.

Gabriel brings the bottle to his lips, carefully, slowly, as if it might attack him if he handles it with anything but gentleness. It’s almost amusing, but Sam’s too busy studying Gabriel’s expressions.

The shadows of reluctance on his face as the bottle’s mouth touches his lips; the frozen moment after the bitter liquid floods past his teeth, when he’s cataloguing the taste, the feel of cool beer heavy on his tongue; and finally, naturally, his features light up with wonder and pleasure, and Sam smiles in his own bottle, shaking his head with fond amusement.

“As I was saying,” Sam quips as Gabriel downs the entire content without pause. “It’s heavenly,” he huffs a little laugh at his own joke, but Gabriel doesn’t notice, busy as he is to taste more of the strange liquid.

When the archangel sets the bottle down, it’s empty and he’s a bit winded. But when his determined, almost feral look meets Sam’s eyes, asking for another, Sam can’t do anything but comply. He still didn’t get the hang of the Grace, but surprisingly, he conjures another bottle of beer without any effort whatsoever.

And then it’s another and another and another, until the vacant space between them is full of empty bottles and Gabriel is swaying where he sits, glassy eyes blinking lazily.

“You’ve done it, Sasquatch.” Gabriel’s words come out slurred and barely comprehensible. “You officially drunked an ar… ar… ar’angel,” he finishes, unable to properly pronounce the word.

Sam smiles, looking down at his still half full beer. He doesn’t even correct the mistake, because then it wouldn’t be as funny as it is now.

“You’re the one that kept asking for another.” Sam shrugs, looking up at Gabriel.

His eyes try to focus on Sam, but they keep missing their target by a few inches.

“Yeah,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut, then opening them again, “but you don’ know how frustratin’ is to tas’ each an’ every atom of each an’ every molecule,” he sighs, letting his head rest on the stretched arm on the table.

“But with food is not like that?” Sam can’t help but ask.

“Nu-hu,” Gabriel murmurs.

Sam doesn’t prod for more. He nurses the beer silently, glancing at Gabriel now and then. By the sound of Gabriel’s even breath, he has probably fallen asleep.

“You kno’,” Gabriel starts again, and Sam’s attention snaps up to the dirty blonde crown of hair. “I nev’r knew how lonely you are.”

The hunter blinks, caught off-guard, but also confused as to what the drunken archangel means.

“When you’re alone,” he lifts himself up to look at Sam, but his eyes keep falling shut, “is so silent ‘round.”  

He puts both his hands under his jaw, to sustain his heavier-by-the-second head. “So alone in your--,” he frowns, momentarily confused, “... my head.” Then he smiles, goofily. “More lone’ than I been since... “ a small pause to flutter his hand, which makes him sway unsteadily, before he tucks the hand back under his jaw. “Eeeeeons away… back… that far, huh?” he asks but it’s not addressed to Sam.

“So lone’… so silent… “ he takes a ragged breath, eyes shut tightly, and Sam feels his heart break at what his words mean.

The hunter is about to say something, anything, to comfort Gabriel, because he didn’t know the archangel was feeling this miserable; he should have. All those long silences, they should have tipped Sam off. He should have reacted, prodded, nagged him to talk about what’s bothering him.

He’d been fooled by Gabriel’s carefree behaviour, tricked into thinking that everything was all right with him, when it was anything _but_. Damn him and his flawless masks.

But Gabriel interrupts whatever nonsense is about to spill out of the hunter’s mouth.

“‘tleast I choose to be lonely… you don’t,” he says, a hollow expression on his face. “It comes and you have to deal wi’ it. The silence… the silence eats at you… an’ you don’... you can’t… you can’t do anythin’. Humans… ” A small pause, just to gauge the meaning of the word he just said. “Why did Dad give you so much loneliness to feel an’ silence in your noggin’?”

And the expression, all contorted into grief, sadness, pain and haplessness is enough to render Sam speechless, but with a strong desire to comfort, reassure, calm down the archangel.

“I miss your heart, Sasquatch,” Gabriel says after another pause, the goofy smile back, eyes squeezed shut, and Sam’s eyes widen. “Had the best sound of all ‘em. It calmed me… sometimes. ‘twas--” he pauses, opens his eyes and looks straight at the hunter.

Sam’s breath catches in his throat and for a moment he has the distinct impression that Gabriel tricked him into believing he was drunk. He experienced that intensity only when Gabriel was lucid.

“Perfect,” he whispers, smiling softly, blearily, and Sam can’t deal with it; with anything Gabriel’s words riled up in him.

"Gabriel, I..." Sam's jaw works, but no other words come out of his mouth.

And Gabriel, in his drunken state, realizes two things; first, he knows what Sam's working himself up to say; second, he realizes how redundant the need of his Grace is in these cases.

He doesn't need it to find out what Sam's frolicsome fingers around the bottle mean, what Sam's continuous darting eyes whichever way means, what Sam wetting his lips one too many times in the silence that stretches and stretches between them means. He doesn't need to know... to know... know...

He squeezes his eyes shut and hides his face behind his hands. This is not good. Even inebriated he can still read all that body language and it’s not good.

“Sam,” he says, voice perfectly steady, if a bit gruff; word so simple and plain, stripped off it’s many nicknames, it rests heavy in the air between them. “Please get me outta this state,” he whispers, all but pleading.

Sam hesitates. He doesn’t know how he is supposed to do that. But then he’s at Gabriel’s side, and Gabriel looks up at him, eyes still glassy, cheeks still flushed, lips still damp and pink.

The hunter leans down a bit, not breaking the eye contact, and he’s perfectly conscious he could do something foolish right now and Gabriel would comply, readily, without argument--happily even. He reads it in his blown pupils and half-parted lips, expression open and genuine.

He chooses to grant his request instead, and, following up on his instincts and a couple of memories, he gingerly touches Gabriel’s cheek and watches how the vitreous look in his eyes clears away, how the flush fades, the blood goes back down, leaving behind warm, redless cheeks.

Gabriel’s pupils contract for an instant, before dilating to their normal size.

Sam lingers there, above the archangel, a palm away from his face, cool fingers snuggled into Gabriel’s hair, for a little longer than necessary.

Gabriel swallows and opens his mouth, but Sam’s already straightening up, retreating, passing a hand through his long hair.

“I need to take a shower,” the hunter says out of the blue, and Gabriel doesn’t say anything, still looking up at Sam, the surprise still firm in place.

No sooner the words leave Sam’s lips that he’s already clean and warm, as if he just got out of the shower. Sam freezes.

Gabriel smirks, his mind catching up with the present, prepared to say something in regard.

“Not a word,” Sam warns him, crossing his arms, annoyed that his apparent human problem has been resolved in under a second and he can’t use that time to clear his mind, put some distance between them.

Gabriel puts up his hands in a defensive way, but the amused smirk doesn’t falter one bit. It looks like the usual mischievous glint in his eyes has returned, and Sam ignores the relief he feels at that. He didn’t even know he was worried this much by Gabriel’s odd behaviour.

But maybe being constantly aware of the deafening silence around them and finding it hollow and depression-inducing might mean that he was secretly worrying about him. Not to think about the way he sometimes looked at Sam, as if he had so much to say, but the words were cloying up behind his tongue and wouldn’t get out in a coherent sentence. Or phrases.

_… what was that… there might be a new development… it’s acting up without thought… that was dangerous…_

Sam’s brow dips. “What?” he says out loud and Gabriel’s eyes snap up to his, inquiring. “What did you say?”

Gabriel looks positively puzzled. “I didn’t say anything.”

“No, you said something,” Sam tells him, his face contorted in concentration. “Something about danger and… and… what development?” he asks, eyes focused intently on the other’s.

It’s then that a flash of recognition morphs on Gabriel’s face, followed closely by horror. He is silent for some time, his head turned to one side so he doesn’t have to look at Sam.

“You heard my thoughts,” Gabriel finally says, his voice barely above a whisper.

He steals a glance towards the hunter and doesn’t see the shock that he was expecting. No. But surprise, yes.

“But they weren’t… full sentences.” Sam tries to reason. “They were--”

“Pieces,” Gabe interrupts, electing to look back at Sam. “Yes. This is the first time you heard someone else’s thoughts, right?” Sam nods, all his attention revolved towards Gabriel.

It suddenly becomes too much.

Or too little.

It irked Gabriel before, of course it did. Being used to just look into someone’s eyes and see so many details, so many unspoken truths, every lie stripped bare just around the pupils. That’s what Gabriel doesn’t and will never like about being human.

The limits, now put into such a stark contrast, he wants to laugh and scream at the same time. He does neither.

He isn’t used to having boundaries. And now that the truth he ignored since the moment he realized he had no Grace, has finally been acknowledged, and the novelty weared off, he has no means to stop the oncoming waves of desperation coupled with adrenaline that pushes his heart rate skywards.

“What does it mean?” Sam asks quietly, breaking Gabriel’s veil of thoughts ever so slightly and Gabriel snaps his head up. “Hearing your thoughts, I mean.”

Gabriel gulps, taking a shuddering breath. “That my Grace is becoming more and more accustomed to you,” he whispers, the meaning of his words hitting home.

There’s no stopping the empty hole that expands in his chest, the cold that washes his skin anew. There’s no Grace to warm him up anymore.

They remain like that, unmoving, looking at each other as if they’ll find something in the other’s eyes; answers most probably, but all they can see is another broken being desperately trying to mend itself.

“Alright,” Gabriel breaks the silence, darting up from the chair; he doesn’t want to see the much sought-after surface in Sam’s eyes and be unable to reach it. “I think I’m gonna take advantage of that shower in your place.”

Sam has the presence of mind to snort ungracefully, clamping down on the instinct of following the archangel with his eyes when Gabriel passes him by.

“If you slip, you’ll fall,” Sam tells him casually. “Just, FYI.”

Gabriel stops just inside the bathroom door and looks back at the hunter, whose back is still turned towards him.

“If I fall,” he says quietly, a little smile curving his lips upwards. “You’ll catch me.”

And closes the door before Sam whips around in surprise.

ooo

“This was so much easier before,” Gabriel mumbles as he stumbles out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later, trying to put on his denim. He was successful with one leg, but now he is struggling with the other.

It takes Sam by surprise, because he didn’t expect a half naked archangel hopping around in a frustration battle with his own pair of trousers.

He finds it amusing, from where he’s perched on the chair.

“Humanity too difficult to deal with?” Sam asks, smirking.

Now Gabe has flopped onto Sam’s bed, being the closest to the bathroom, with both his legs up in the air, trying to pull the denim up.

It’s a ridiculous picture. Gabriel is ridiculous. Then, again, when isn’t he?

“Sleeping is fine,” he grunts out, ignoring Sam’s comment. “Although waking up is the hardest thing I’ve ever experienced, but this… this, ugh…” he stops talking as he finally manages to pull his garment above his knees; he stands up and pulls it all the way up, buttoning it. “How do you put up with it?”

Sam shrugs, unable to keep his eyes from roaming over Gabriel’s now half-naked body.

“No, seriously,” the archangel prods, approaching Sam on bare feet, eyes intent on the hunter’s face.

Sam shrugs again. “We just do,” he says, watching the way Gabriel’s legs move, the way his hips sway… “It’s something we learn when we’re little,” he adds, now his eyes focused on the archangel’s serene face.

Sam can feel the warmth that radiates from Gabriel’s body, mere inches away from him. He has never felt so comfortable in the presence of another person, supernatural or not, except his brother’s. It’s a nice change.

The hunter looks up at Gabriel, who made his way between his legs. He’s not that close to Sam, if you think about his legs that go on and on for miles, but the proximity makes him feel a bit squirmy.

Gabriel is opening his mouth to probably say something when a flutter of wings warns them of the presence of another angel. Outside, the street lamps push away the darkness.

They both turn towards Cas.

Cas looks at them strangely, head dipped and eyes calculating.

“I have found the solution for your problem,” Cas tells them, hesitantly.

ooo

They return back to their original motel room, where a seemingly calm Dean is busy cleaning his gun.

Sam looks at him for a couple of seconds, prepared for whatever Dean might say to him about what happened earlier. When nothing comes, not even a glance in his direction, he sighs and leaves it at that. For now he has more pressing matters than his brother’s sulk to worry about; it’s obvious it didn’t sit well with him.

“Hey there, bucko,” Gabriel greets Dean in his usual cheery voice.

Dean just grunts in response and Sam’s eyes swiftly snap up to Gabriel, because he has a bad feeling about this.

And of course, Gabriel, the Trickster\archangel\whatever, has never been able to leave it at that. Never.

“Oh, why the long face?” He prods, taking a couple of steps towards the hunter; Dean, for his part, is putting the gun back together with practiced hands, not even looking up at Gabriel. “Unhappy ‘bout that express ride?”

“Gabriel, we don’t have time for this,” Cas tells him, and Sam should do the same, but he doesn’t feel like intervening.

Not when Gabriel’s apparent mindless remarks seem to have a direction.

“Because I must tell you,” the archangel continues, stopping a foot away from Dean. “You’ve been a fucking douchebag spitting that shit in Sam’s face.”

It takes a split second, but Sam sees it as if it’s happening in slow motion. Dean shoots up from the chair, pointing his shiny gun at Gabriel’s forehead and both him and Cas appear at his side simultaneously, backs towards Gabriel and hands on each of Dean’s arm.

Gabriel didn’t bat an eyelid at to the sudden outburst of movement.

Sam doesn’t question why or how could he keep his cool in the face of such a blatant threat towards his life; something tells Sam that he’s used to this kind of thing happening more often than Gabriel would like to admit. The younger Winchester’s gaze is entirely focused on Dean’s face, ready to act should the tiniest twitch warn him beforehand.

He managed to clamp down on the instincts that screamed at him to get that damn gun out of Gabriel’s face. Sam’s not the one who acts first and asks questions later, so if he can clear up this situation without using physical force he’ll call it a day. He doesn’t count Gabriel’s Grace in, because by now he has solid proof it has a mind of its own and acts according to whatever whim it has.

But most of all, Sam’s curious about what Gabriel’s really after, rising the tension to a fatal peak. He surely didn’t forget that he’s still a human being, fragile, breakable, and Dean’s the one that has an honest to god weapon in his hand, which could so easily _kill him_.

For a second, every sound ceases to exist in that room, every breath suspended, before something, somewhere snaps and time retakes its normal course.

“What do you know about it, huh?” Dean asks, suppressed anger making his words thick and heavy.

“Enough to call you on your bullshit,” Gabriel tells him, voice levelled and artic.

Adrenaline spikes through Sam, suddenly aware of what the archangel is doing. But it can’t possibly be. Why should he care whether Dean digs out shameful particulars of his life at inopportune moments or not? That’s something between the two of them. It shouldn’t concern _Gabriel_ of all people.

But there he is, human, taking the bull head-on without as much as thinking about what he’s risking.

“Damn it,” Sam murmurs, releasing a short sigh. “Gabe, please leave it. It doesn’t matter,” he tells him, his eyes still on Dean’s face, hoping Gabriel will listen to reason and back off.

He’s not sure if he’ll be able to save him from the sure death that’s pointed towards him, even this close to Dean as he is.

“Dean,” Cas tries to shake him out of his anger.

“‘Course it does,” Gabe tells Sam, not breaking eye contact with the older hunter. “Someone should tell him how much of an asshole he is for using guilt to manipulate his little brother.”

Dean’s eyes narrow dangerously, and Cas’ grip tightens.

“Dean, you’re not thinking well,” Cas says, his blue gaze focused entirely on the hunter’s face; by now, Dean’s head should be on fire with how intensely he is being stared at by an angel and a temporary archangel, but no, he’s as cool as a cucumber. “Please put the gun away. You could kill Gabriel with it.”

Dean snorts. “That’s their purpose, Cas,” he tells the angel, his eyes still on Gabriel’s. “To put down douchebags.”

He relaxes the grip on the weapon a bit, but then Gabriel has to open his mouth.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that. Were you talking about you?” he says in the most sarcastic and infuriating tone he has ever used, and Dean’s gaze turns murderous again.

Sam’s grip tightens some more. It’s time to put the brakes on or someone’s going to get hurt. Permanently.

“Dean,” Sam says firmly, and, surprisingly, his brother’s attention snaps up at him. “Please.” He pours all the pleading and desperation he feels right now into that one, simple word, hoping it’s enough to convince his brother to relent.

The second remains suspended for a terrifyingly long time, before something uncoils in Dean’s hard gaze and he pushes the safety back on, letting his armed hand to descend slowly.

Both him and Cas release Dean’s arms slowly, reluctantly. They’re ready to latch onto them again, should the older hunter change his mind. Sam’s attention, though, is divided between his brother and Gabriel. He prays the archangel won’t throw another remark.

Sam’s arms fall limply at his sides when Dean turns his back to them and puts the gun on the table, clearly not intent on pursuing the matter further.

“Gabriel,” Cas says, an urgent edge caught in the archangel’s name; he’s now turned towards his brother, watching him expectantly.

It’s a few stretched moments later that Gabriel looks back at Cas, a small sigh escaping through his nose. He smiles widely, when he looks up at Sam.

“Ready, Samichi?” he asks, heading for one of the twin motel beds.

Sam nods. “Yeah, I think I am.”

The hunter goes to his own bed, which is not his own but his brother’s, and lies down on his back, the creamy ceiling now his sole point of focus.

Castiel explained, back at their motel room, that it won’t be a complicated process. Rather, it will be as easy as taking a book from the desk and placing it on the bed (Sam’s own translation of the creepy choice of words Castiel used). It was harder to find the spell for Cas to find the solution, to begin with. But after he went on a short trip to the cave itself and inspected (from afar) the few symbols he could make out, his research had been made easier.

That should have been Sam’s field, but since the spell was a rare one, and few supernatural beings knew where to look for it, there would have been slim to none chances for Sam to find even scraps of information about it on the Internet.

Dean had been broody all day long, thus as unhelpful as he could ever be. But Cas was already used to this kind of behaviour and was sure that it’ll pass in a few days.

Cas goes between the two beds and puts each of his forefinger on Gabriel’s and Sam’s forehead.

For a moment, all three of them are connected. Sam feels both Gabriel and Cas, soothing and warm presences close to him, and everything is blinding. He knows his eyes are shut, but he can still see the light. It stings a bit, but it’s bearable.

Unfinished bits of thoughts are flying and smoldering together, brushing against him, causing Sam the continuous jolts of surprise. It’s hard to tell whose thoughts are whose, because it happens on a deeper level than any human being will ever be capable of reaching. Unless they’ll try the same thing as Sam’s trying right now, that is.

It feels rejuvenating, as if every crack in his soul is healed with tender love and care, warmth seeping through him like a blanket. It’s only now that he realizes he’s been freezing and he never knew.

In the absence of the opposition, one cannot help but stay ignorant.

But it also feels heartbreaking, as if an important and vital part of him is being snatched away without his consent. And he can’t stop himself from grasping the leaving Grace with renewed force. He doesn’t want it to leave; he doesn’t want to be separated from its comforting presence. He refuses to let it go, because…

Because he has come to love it-- _him_. It’s a part of Gabriel, an important one, and it’s _his_.

Sam’s soul flares, grows in volume and brightness, enveloping Gabriel’s Grace, pulling it closer to him, and Cas is about to lose his hold of it.

“Sam, you have to let it go!” And now Sam can clearly tell it’s Cas’ voice that echoes around him, but he’s unable to do what he’s asking.

The decision is simultaneously his and not his. It depends on him, but at the same time it doesn’t.

The suffocating feeling of possessiveness he feels towards the abstract thing he’s stubbornly pulling towards him, where it resided for a short amount of time, is unbearable and prevents him from thinking logical about it. It’s unthinkable for Sam to let something so precious and beautiful leave him. Its place is wrapped tightly around his soul.

They can’t expect Sam to just consent to this atrocious thing! They have no right to saunter in and take what it’s rightly _his_. Goddammit, he’ll die before he’ll let it happen!

Then, something warm and playful brushes against his soul and his attention shifts towards it, the motion of pulling back stopping for the moment.

“Sammy.”

Someone calls him, and for a second Sam thinks it’s Dean, but the tone is gentle, amused, playful; it can’t be his brother. Then it hits him and he recognizes traces of Gabriel’s voice among all the sounds that live in that blinding space.

“I’d like to have my Grace back, can I?” he asks politely, the amusement thick, but also fond.

Some protective instinct flares harshly at the words, and Sam’s hold of the Grace tightens considerably. He might have heard a strange sort of surprised gasp from somewhere, but he doesn’t pay it any attention.

“No!” he tells Gabriel, without thinking. “It’s _mine_.”

Chuckles echo wildly through the space, reverberating through the Grace and finally through Sam’s soul and some reason returns back to the hunter, enough to make him realize what he’s doing. But not enough to convince him to let the Grace go.

“Yes,” Gabriel acquiesces, after his chuckles die away; his voice is soft, fond--loving. ”I’m yours.”

And that’s the last straw.

With a shocked gasp, Sam releases the Grace all at once. The force that has been accumulated between Cas and Sam’s grasp, violently propels the Grace back into Gabriel’s body and awareness is stolen from the hunter.

ooo

It’s six hours later that Sam finally opens his eyes.

The dark is blissfully diffused into the room, the only source of light that helps him make out shapes is coming from the lamp posts outside the motel room.

He blinks a couple of times, trying to decide if he’s really awake or still asleep. For once, he feels comfortable in his skin, no strange thrum underneath so he takes it Gabriel got back his Grace. He curtly tamps down the pang of sadness that knowledge triggers. It’ll take a bit of time to convince himself that he had no right over it, because that Grace will forever belong to Gabriel and Gabriel only.

It’s oddly quiet in the room. Usually, he’d be able to make out his brother’s breathing, but there’s nothing in there that disturbs the silence. The stillness is a bit unnerving, if he’s to be honest.

“Finally awake, kiddo?” Gabriel’s voice, although low and soft, startles Sam and his head turns towards the direction the archangel’s voice came from.

Which is from the other bed.

He can distinguish a humanoid shape in the dark, and even if he squints and blinks several times, the shape doesn’t become any clearer.

Gabriel must have caught on Sam’s little problem from the long silence, because in the next moment Sam hears a snap and his bedside lamp switches on. Now he has to close his eyes tightly, the sudden flood of light hurting them, and he sits up, passing his knuckles over his eyes. Gradually, though, he gets used to the brightness, but the shape of Gabriel’s sitting position is burned on the back of his eyelids.

“That’s creepy,” Sam murmurs, voice thick with sleep.

Gabriel uncrosses his legs and lets them touch the ground between the beds.

“What’s creepy? Switching the light on?” Gabe asks and even if Sam’s not looking at him, the smirk bleeds into his words. “You do it all the time.”

“No,” the hunter grunts out. “Not that.” He blinks repeatedly and then turns to look at Gabriel, squinting a bit. “The watching.”

The archangel’s eyebrows lift a bit in surprise, but then his amusement grows.

“Oh, you mean the same thing you did yesterday.”

“Yeah,” Sam automatically says. “No… ugh… ” he stumbles in his own words. “Stop turning my words on me when I’m half-coherent!”

Gabriel releases a hearty, genuine laugh at that, letting his head fall back and Sam catches himself staring at the way his throat muscles work under the strain, not to say about what that laugh is doing to Sam’s insides right now. It’s the first time he hears it, so leave him alone.

He never heard the archangel laugh so much and with such a passion. It’s melodious and full, and sends waves of tenderness through Sam’s body.

But it ends as suddenly as it began and Sam is finding himself pinned by Gabriel’s laser-focused gaze, his features schooled back together.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks just as suddenly and the poised way he’s sitting in, has Sam thinking that if he were to answer negatively, the archangel would be all over him in a split second.

Not that he would be displeased by a more physical approach, now that they tackled down the spiritual one.

“Good, I think,” he replies honestly.

“Good,” Gabriel nods absent-mindedly, seemingly deep in thought.

“So everything’s fine, right?” Sam asks and when his question is met with puzzlement, he clarifies. “I mean, the natural balance has been righted. You’re an archangel again and I’m… a human.”

Gabriel blinks twice, looking lost for a second, before Sam’s words register. He nods slowly and a bit of tension eases out of Sam.

“Where are Dean and Cas?”

“Oh, they’ve decided to book another room,” he says casually, eyes still pointed on Sam’s face. “I stayed behind to make sure you’re okay.” Gabriel smoothly leaves out some pieces of truth. “You are fine, right?” he asks again, feeling oddly restless.

The hunter looks at him surprised not so much by the fact that Dean and Cas decided to take another room, but by the fact that Gabriel hasn’t moved from there until Sam woke up. Something that Sam himself did not a day before, but that’s another story.

“I--yeah, yeah. I’m fine.”

Gabriel opens his mouth to say something, but then he shuts it, shaking his head a bit. He stands up suddenly, making Sam do the same, and they remain like that, looking at each other, until Gabriel breaks the silence.

“Alright, I think I’m gonna go,” he says a bit unsure.

Sam’s confused now. Gabriel never announced his intentions to the audience; if he wanted to leave, he would have just disappeared, and he wouldn’t be so--insecure, for lack of a better word. It seems like he has something that he wants to say, but he’s--afraid.

Or maybe Sam’s reading him all wrong. It’s not like he’s had lots of practice with reading an angel’s body language (Cas doesn’t count, because he has little to none of it), especially Gabriel’s. After all, being the Trickster for so many centuries surely has taught him how to best hide his true self under masks upon masks.

“You know, you can stay if you want to,” Sam offers a bit awkwardly and Gabriel’s eyes dart up to roam over the hunter’s face fervently.

“I can’t,” Gabriel says, but it comes out all soft and false.

And maybe that’s what gives Sam a bit of courage or maybe it’s the sliver of hope that’s imperfectly masked beneath Gabriel’s nonchalance, that makes him take a step forward, breaching Gabriel’s personal space. He’s towering in a non-menacing way over the short archangel.

For his part, Gabriel doesn’t take a step back, but he does look surprised by Sam’s action.

“You can’t or you won’t?” he asks, expression open and intent; he’s mere inches apart from Gabriel, eyes resolutely locked together.

“I--” Gabriel suddenly takes a sharp intake of breath, eyes widening.

Sam smiles a bit. “You heard it, right?”

“Heard what?” Gabriel asks, trying to be the perfect picture of nonchalance again and missing by a mile.

For the first time, Gabriel physically needs some space, so he swiftly rounds Sam, going all the way to the window.

Sam turns to look at him, at his back, at the tension around him.

“I guess it’s one thing to hear it as a thought and another out loud.” Sam moves a couple of steps towards Gabriel, but doesn’t approach him more than that. “Gabriel, I--”

“Don’t!” The archangel whips around, desperation written all over his face.

Sam’s surprised by it. “Why?” He genuinely wants to know.

“Because you don’t mean it,” he says, scrambling around for reasons why Sam shouldn’t bring those words to light. “Because it’s just an infatuation, like… like when you think you have a crush on your fellow actor, and you think it’s true, but it’s not and soon you’ll--”

“We’re not actors, Gabriel. We’re archangel and hunter.”

“All the more reason _not_ to,” he takes a deep breath, “not to do it, not get involved.”

“But do you want to?” Sam asks.

“It doesn’t matter,” he tells Sam.

Sam’s having none of it. “Gabriel,” he says firmly, commanding even. “ _Do you_?”

“It doesn’t matter,” the archangel whispers, avoiding Sam’s gaze.

Sam moves another couple of steps towards Gabriel, irked by what he’s denying to himself (and to Sam, for that matter).

“It does matter, Gabriel. To me, to you.”

“No,” he shakes his head, then looks up at the hunter. “It’s just an infatuation, Sam. You don’t even like my Grace--” He firmly shuts his mouth over the slipped words, although they’ve already been heard.

“What?” Sam says, eyes wide with shock. “When did I--”

“Back on the road in Canada,“ Gabe interrupts, looking Sam straight on. “True, you didn’t say it outright, but you didn’t need to. It was written all over your face.”

Sam’s mouth works, opening and closing on air, words caught in his throat.

“That… “ he manages at last. “Damn it, Gabe. That wasn’t what you think it was!” He sighs, passing his hand through his hair. “I was confused, okay? I was trying to cope with the situation. It’s not like I wake up every morning, expecting to have Grace dumped on me by nightfall! I wasn’t prepared for it. But that doesn’t mean I was _disgusted_ by your Grace. Anything but, in fact. Wasn’t the little scene I made when Cas tried to take your Grace back proof enough?”

“That was just--”

“Oh, no,” Sam interrupts, shaking his head slowly, a wry smile on his lips. “You don’t get to belittle that. You don’t get to deny the fact that _I love you_ , you idiot! And it didn’t happen in the wake of these past few days’ events. It was there from before you died,” his voice catches on the last word, even as his expression remains hard and vexed. “And if you’re going to feed me that infatuation bullshit one more time, I swear to God I’m gonna punch you!”

By the end of Sam’s little speech, Gabriel’s eyes turned into saucers, wide with shock and disbelief.

'Love' is too strong a word for Gabriel; too strong, too intense, too big and all-encompassing, the kind he felt every waking hour since his creation back in heaven. But what he feels for Sam is not the same love he felt towards his Father and siblings.

It's new and warm, almost ticklish; it fills him with a childlike happiness. It's powerful, exquisite and burning, but obstinate to let Gabriel control it; it’s boundless and fills him both with priceless happiness and unfathomable terror.

To gift Sam with those words would be like committing himself entirely to him. And even if Sam's the closest person, supernatural or not, to have ever come so close to that definition, he's not sure he's prepared to make that step.

To give himself, infinite, powerful, ancient, to a human, only a spark in his lifespan--he's afraid. So afraid of accepting the love that's simmering inside him, ready to spill out and drown Sam completely. So afraid of being broken when the spark will be over, faded into nothingness, and darkness, cold, void of colors and feelings will come pouring within, killing Gabriel piece by piece, atom by tiny atom.

He doesn't want that. He doesn't want the 'after'. Nobody likes the 'after'.

He should say something in return, maybe tell Sam how he feels; how he really, truly feels about him, but he's unable to make those three words come out of his mouth.

By now it’s as clear as the daylight that both of them are on the same bandwagon; Gabriel can see the interest written in Sam’s eyes and he can still feel the lingering possessiveness the hunter showed towards his Grace. It still baffles him Sam’s reaction; genuine worry and love and protectiveness, as if Castiel would have harmed Gabriel’s Grace in some way.

"It's okay," Sam breaths, expression soft, and he takes the remaining steps needed to envelop Gabriel in his arms.

When did he start shaking? Gabriel doesn’t remember, but now that he’s clutching the hunter’s shirt in his fists, he can clearly feel his joints shaking, not to speak about his ragged breath.

"It’s okay," Sam repeats, voice barely above a whisper; then he takes the archangel’s face into his hands, keeping him from looking anywhere but at Sam. "I won't force you to say it." He smiles, small, but warm.

Gabriel sighs, not with relief. It’s just air that escaped through his parted lips.

"I admit, it'd be nice to hear them coming out of your mouth," Sam jokes, but quickly continues when shadows of worry reappear on Gabriel's face, "but I don't need them, not when they’re written in your eyes.”

“You see, we might be breakable and ugly," and Gabriel whispers 'you're not', to which Sam smiles again, "and mortals, but we learn to see those words in the other when the words themselves become meaningless, when they can't grasp the genuine meaning of what we intend to say."

A strange sound vibrates within Gabriel's chest, a whimper or a faint growl, his eyes still glued to Sam's, unable to look anywhere else but at him.

"I know you love me Gabriel." Sam's so close to him now, a breath away, and Gabriel is trembling with suppressed feelings, brimming inside him, ready to spill, but he _can’t_ let them. "So much you don't even know what to do anymore."

The warmth radiates from Sam and seeps into Gabriel’s body, stealthily, naturally, making him shudder, lose control over the temperature of his vessel. It’s cold and hot, then cold again, waves of goosebumps riding across his skin. The hunter hugs him more tightly, as if he’s trying to give the archangel as much of his warmth as he can.

Isn't Sam the most wonderful and simultaneously the most unfair human being? How can he be so stupidly clever and gorgeous and selfless and pay no heed to what that combination is doing to Gabriel?

Sam still retains that stupid besotted smile on his face when Gabriel disentangles himself from the taller man and looks up at him. It infuriates Gabriel so. Because he’s right. Oh, he doesn’t even know how much _truth_ his words hold.

They stare at each other for a long time, before something uncoils in Gabriel’s eyes.

Insecurities turn to hunger; worry turns to lust.

Sam’s not prepared for the sudden outburst of movement. Gabriel honest to God _pounces_ on the taller man, as if the archangel suddenly, _finally_ , kicked his self control out of his vessel and let himself be taken over by his desires.

They fall on Sam’s bed in a tangle of limbs and tongues, Sam readily opening his mouth and letting the invasion happen when Gabriel prods for it. Sam’s hand snakes its way into the archangel’s hair, tugging ever so softly, urging him to hurry, because they’ve been wanting for the same thing for too long.

Gabriel lifts Sam’s shirt up, but it gets stuck around his head and the bastard is _laughing_ at Gabriel’s clumsiness and puffs of frustrations; but then Gabriel remembers that now he can have total control over the situation, so he snaps his fingers and they’re blessedly naked.

Sam’s sharp intake of breath pulls a wolfish grin out of Gabriel, and he dives in to conquer all that expanse of skin. In no time, throat, chest, ribs and stomach fall under Gabriel’s soft lips, waves of goosebumps washing over Sam’s body as if called upon by Sam’s breathy sighs and occasional whimpers when Gabriel’s teeth catch.

It’s perfect; it’s delirious.

It makes Gabriel feel heady when he hears the distinct change in Sam’s heartbeat, how it stutters before it takes to beat faster, with intention. He places a tender kiss in the center of the hunter’s chest, cherishing the sound that his mind so readily absorbs. Damn, but he missed this particular pulse.

“We should’ve done this long ago,” Sam murmurs, looking down at Gabriel from between almost closed eyelids; a soft smile adorns his lips and Gabriel can’t help but look in mesmerised surprise at the hunter--human beneath him.

How many did he bed in the last centuries--millenia? He lost count, that many they were. Women and men came and went, neither making him want more from the casual hook ups.

But Sam--Sam’s another thing entirely.

He smirks. “So, you say you would’ve jumped my bones, if that gentlemanly side of yours wouldn’t have been so obnoxious?” he asks, leaning down at the same level as Sam’s fully hard cock, a hand closing around the base.

If Sam’s pupils weren’t so widely blown, Gabriel would have sweared they dilated even more.

Sam shivers, both from the contact with his heated length, smooth, cool hands, and from Gabriel’s intense gaze, hungry, passionate-- _possessive_. He can feel the exhales of the archangel on the side of his length and he knows he won’t last much longer. Already, the heat is pooling in the pit of his stomach and even if the foreplay is delicious, what with that honest to god look of hunger on Gabriel’s face, he wants _more_.

“Please, Gabe…” he whimpers, starting to squirm in the hopes of some friction, but Gabriel’s other hand falls on his left hip, halting every movement.

“Not so fast, kiddo.” His smirk promises torture and Sam gulps reflexively. “I’m gonna savour you nice and slowly.”

And Sam can’t, for the life of him, argue back, when hooded eyes bore into his, pinning him down without even needing his Grace to do it.

He relaxes somewhat and Gabriel goes straight to prepare him.

Sam sighs when he hears the uncapping of a bottle of lube, and shivers when the slick and cold anoint touches his fevered cock, slipping down so torturously slow that he’s unable to muffle the pathetic whimper of protest that escapes him with the back of hand.

From the sly smirk on his lips, Gabriel likes how Sam’s becoming undone before his eyes.

He starts working on Sam’s hard length, stroking slow at first, delighting in the sounds that escape unhinged from the hunter’s lips. Sighs and whimpers, soft moans peppered with hints of growls. Gabriel’s eyes are focused on Sam’s face, studying and cataloguing every twitch, every line that deepens or smooths, as if it’s a once in a lifetime chance to do it.

The way Sam’s lower lip trembles now and again; the enticing way he worries it between his teeth when Gabriel’s hand twists in a particular manner, making Sam arch up a few inches, muscles tensing, before relaxing, breath uneven and eyes closed. He savours every second of what Gabriel is doing to him.

It makes Gabriel heady with pleasure and something throbs in his chest when Sam opens his eyes and looks at him, his expression so open and needy and then, something else; something akin to reverence and love and fondness and warmth.

It goes without saying that Gabriel’s breath catches at the sight of him. He gives a few more strokes, before pouring some more lube onto his fingers and going straight to--

He freezes a mere inch away from Sam’s hole, eyes darting up to meet slightly confused ones, until Gabriel’s questioning look clears up Sam’s confusion.

A smile appears on his lips before he nods his consent.

Then it’s just about feeling; warmth, smooth, slick, accompanied by sound, whimpers, moans, breathy syllables or words, Gabriel doesn’t know. Neither Sam, all verbal coordination going in tilt at the feeling of Gabriel’s finger inside him.

Soon it becomes too little and he doesn’t shy away from making the archangel aware of it. Then it’s two fingers inside and the friction it’s delirious, and when it becomes three, his mind is dizzy with the pleasure that brings his skin alive in a way he never experienced. Not even when he had the Grace inside him and it thrummed continuously under his skin.

It’s when Gabriel, knowingly, hits Sam’s prostate, that the latter arches his back up more than a couple of inches, hands fisting in the bed’s cover, breath stuttering to a stop, before falling back on the mattress.

“Do it again,” Sam breathes, urgency in his tone.

And Gabriel does it again, and again, and again, until Sam spills out all that has been accumulating in his gut, a shout, midway muffled by his hand, escaping from his throat.

Gabriel allows him a reprieve, although he’s painfully hard. He distracts himself from his demanding erection by stroking Sam’s hair out of his eyes and sweaty forehead, patiently waiting for the hunter to climb down from the high, speaking sweet nonsense into his ear.

“You’ve no idea how gorgeous you are, Sam. So perfect and mesmerizing. I don’t even know how I resisted so long without this,” he says, then his voice lowers even more. “Without you.”

At which Sam interlaces their fingers together, bringing the hand that has been lying on his chest up to leave a soft kiss on the knuckles.

Gabriel’s eyes widen in surprise.

“I know, me too,” Sam tells him, that genuine smile curling up his lips again and Gabriel’s heart stutters.

The change in Sam’s look registers too late in Gabriel’s mind. The hunter manages to swap their places, now the archangel pinned beneath Sam’s large body.

Sam grins cheekily. “Now’s my turn.”

Before Gabriel knows it, before he even has the time to think about protesting, Sam’s already down on him, taking the hardened length in his mouth as much as his gag reflex permits him; what’s left uncovered by his mouth, he compliments with his hand.

The sharp intake of breath is foreign to Gabriel’s own ears. He was never caught by surprise, not by a human. But this one, Sam--well, he seems intent on surprising him more often than not.

A swift swirl of tongue makes the archangel swear, as his breath is more and more ragged, soft whimpers and moans floating through the air, incoherency becoming the operating word.

“Damn it, Sam,” Gabriel says between gritted teeth, finding his words (not Enochian, not any other language that’s not English) again.

He looks down at Sam’s bobbing head as mischievous eyes catch his. “Will you ever stop surprising me?” he adds, then lets his head fall on the pillow, eyes rolling back in his head, letting the pleasure completely overwhelm him for a second; he intends the question to be admonishing, but he knows for a fact that his smile has bled into the words already.

That and the sudden stretch of Sam’s lips.

It takes Gabriel no more than another minute to finally give in to that building warmth in the pit of his stomach; delicious, but agonizing pleasure is released with an unrestrained shout and if experience didn’t teach him to keep a close grasp of his Grace, some tragedy would have already happened. Never mind the rattle of the walls. Those are minor consequences to having Sam’s eyes burn out.

He falls boneless on the bed, trying to catch his ragged breath, belatedly remembering that Sam swallowed up everything and a lazy grin stretches his lips as Sam settles at his side, enveloping the archangel into his long limbs.

The stickiness at his back is uncomfortable, so he wills it away with his mind, too lazy to snap his fingers; especially when one of them is entangled with Sam’s and the other found it’s way under the pillow.

“I love you,” Sam murmurs into his nape, and Gabriel knows those words will be forever etched there, just at the back of his mind.

He allows himself to fall asleep to the warmth that’s plastered to his back, nape to tow, Sam’s beating heart lulling him into an unguarded state.

ooo

Sam blearily hears the door to the motel room opening.

“Whoa,” a familiar voice disrupts the quiet, before the door is firmly closed back.

They’ve managed to get under the covers at some point in the night, which is good because the room’s air is chilly. He buries his nose into the hair that’s an inch below his chin and smiles contentedly when the arm that is draped loosely across his middle, tightens in response.

Gabriel’s lips move against his chest, alternating words with kisses, when he says, “We should wake up and make ourselves presentable for when Dean returns, Cas says. Oh, and he sends us his best wishes and also promises that he’ll take care of Dean-o should he make a fuss,” Gabriel tells Sam.

“Mhm. Say thanks from us,” he says lazily, pulling Gabriel even closer, if that’s even possible with how tangled they are.

“Already did that, but he said he won’t be able to stop Dean-o from returning.” The amusement drips from Gabriel’s words and Sam knows he’s thinking about scarring his brother for life with some image of them that leaves nothing to the imagination.

So Sam, the ever caring little brother, decides to spare Dean such atrocities.

“Where’re you goin’, hot stuff?” Gabe asks, pulling him down when Sam starts to rise.

“To get my--” he stops, remembering that Gabriel zapped them somewhere. “Right.” He clears his throat and looks down at Gabriel. “Where did you put our clothes?”

“Ah,” Gabriel says, and by the tone of his voice, Sam is starting to prepare himself to negotiate. “Those. No idea where they disappeared,” he tells him, eyes still closed and nose still buried into the taller man’s chest.

“Gabe,” Sam warns. “Please return our clothes.”

“Nu-hu.” He shakes his head, nuzzling at Sam’s chest. “‘Sides, I always thought the leaf was the best accessory mankind would ever possess.”

At this Sam dissolves into a hearty laugh.

“You’re joking!” he says and Gabriel chuckles.

“Am not. Adam was flattered to a blushing maiden when I told him that,” Gabriel confesses and the bed starts shaking with how hard Sam’s laughing right now.

Gabriel splays a hand over Sam’s chest, when he calms down and leans on his back. Sam still has mirth in his eyes and a wide smile on his lips when he looks down at Gabriel and they lock gazes into a rare, tender moment.

“You’re something else, Sasquatch,” Gabriel admits, fondness catching at the last word.

Sam’s smile seems to get even bigger, if that’s even humanly possible.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, a hand lifting up and touching Gabriel’s cheek. “You’re not bad yourself. Now, could I have my clothes back?”

“Not a chance!” Gabriel says and starts tickling the hunter, making him writhe and laugh uncontrollably.

“No! Stop, Gabe!” he cries out, trying to get those wiggly fingers off him. “You’re… you’re unfair!” he adds between laughs.

“Oh, I’m as fair as I go, Sammy,” Gabe retorts, smirking. “I’m not even using my Grace.”

“Damn it, Gabe!” he yells good-naturedly, before falling off the bed with a yelp.

Gabriel laughs at it, but then helps Sam up, conjuring both their clothes at the same time. For a moment, Sam’s stunned. Gabriel smirks up at him.

“Consider this an offer from my generous heart,” the archangel says, bowing ceremoniously.

“Which will be paid back with interests, hm?” Sam tugs Gabriel closer to him, poised to kiss him again.

He smirks. “I like how your mind works, kiddo.”

This time Dean knocks on the door, thus interrupting the almost-kiss, to Gabriel’s annoyance.

“I’m seriously thinking of turning that car into neon pink,” Gabriel mutters petulantly and the hunter throws him a questioning glance, but the archangel waves him away.

Sam opens the door and a resolute Dean walks in, Cas in tow.

Gabriel smirks at the older hunter as he goes to sit on one of the two chairs at the table, but surprisingly doesn’t make any comment. After Sam takes the other chair and Gabe and Cas elect to just stand where they are, the gates open.

“So, how long you’ve been boning each other?” Dean starts, his expression unreadable. Sam would smile to himself, if Dean’s gaze wouldn’t be focused so intensely on him, because he was expecting this kind of question.

He looks at his big brother for a long moment, before glancing at Gabriel.

“Several hours now?” Sam says, unsure.

Dean splutters. “You’re joking!”

“He’s not,” Gabriel chimes in, fighting against the flare of overprotectiveness that tells him to just go there and be a comforting presence besides Sam.

But Gabriel knows this is something the two brothers need to sort out, so he diligently keeps his protective side to himself. For now.

Dean ignores him completely. “Are you serious?” he asks Sam, still surprised. “I mean, not to be any spoilsports, but he’s…” he pauses, searching for the right words. “Gabriel.” He settles for this, unable to find any other descriptor more powerful and all-encompassing than the guy’s very name. “Surely you didn’t forget ‘bout all the shit he’s been giving--”

“No, Dean, I haven’t,” Sam sighs, and he thinks he hears a soft intake of breath from somewhere out of his peripheral vision. “But that doesn’t mean he’s still trying to fuck with us.”

And that has got to be the worst choice of words he has ever come up with, because Dean grimaces.

“Dude, gross!” he says, nose scrunching up.

Sam allows a small smile. “You get the idea.” Is all that he offers.

“I wish I didn’t,” Dean confesses, his eyes darting up between Sam and Gabriel.

He begrudgingly acknowledges the burning protectiveness he sees in the archangel’s eyes, focused entirely on Sam. At least he seems intent on taking care of his little brother and not play it off as just a fling, he gives him that.

“So that’s it,” Dean says, looking at Gabriel. “You bone my brother and all your crimes are scrubbed up?” He shakes his head. “No. Sorry, but I’m not putting up with this crap.” He needs to make sure this is not another dead-end relationship his brother is getting into. Dean’s seen enough of those.

Sam sighs, having expected this one too.

Gabriel tenses where he stands, taking a step forwards, but Cas puts his hand on his shoulder, stopping him. When he looks back at his brother, he can read patience and assurance on Castiel’s face. Gabriel relaxes somewhat. Maybe things won’t go to hell (no pun intended) for now.

“Look,” Sam starts, taking a deep breath, “I’m not saying you should be all rainbows and smiles and root for us, but you could at least try and be happy for me,” he tries to reason with his brother, but when Dean opens his mouth, clearly intent on rubbing more guilt in his face, Sam puts up a hand to stop him.

There’s so much one can tolerate until it’s not ‘funny’ anymore.

“And even if I made some fucked up decisions in the past I’m definitely not proud of and I never intend to relive, I believe I’m allowed a second chance. You need to give me a second chance, Dean. I know what to look for now, what signs should tip me off that he’s up to something. But there aren’t any. Gabriel has no intention of bringing me any harm.”

And Gabriel tenses again, but for totally different reasons now. The combination of ‘harm’ and ‘Sam’ in the same sentence doesn’t sit well with Gabriel.

Dean looks at both of them, still unconvinced. “This is bullshit,” he says. “You’ve known each other for, what, two days?”

“That’ll be four months and one week now, bucko,” Gabriel intervenes, twitching where he stands for being silent for such a long time; he’s itching for some sugar, but it’s out of the question. This is serious. “Do your math.”

Sam’s head whips around to look at the archangel in surprise. That little time passed since Gabriel’s resurrection? Then again, he would have never thought the mighty archangel would have been the type to keep track of time. Who knows, maybe they’ll have an anniversary sometime soon.

Dean’s eyes narrow down on Gabriel. “Oh, yeah? And how much interaction did you have in those months, ‘cause I gotta tell you, I haven’t seen much of it since you came back to screw with us.”

Before Sam has the time to say something in edgewise, Gabriel steps forward. He’ll be damned if he’ll remain silent again. This has gone long enough. It’s time to cut him some slack.

“The only one I’m screwing right now is your brother, Shothead,” he deliberately says, knowing it’ll irk Dean; a twitch of discomfort does appear on the older hunter’s face, but nothing else apart from that.

“And for the record, interaction doesn’t necessarily have to be verbal. There are other ways it can go.” Gabriel steals a glance at Sam, finding the hunter is already looking at him with something like awe and amusement mixing together.

“Smartass,” Dean comments.

“Muttonhead,” Gabe shoots back, crossing his arms, now more in his element.

Dean narrows his eyes. “Douchebag,” he pronounces the word slowly, tasting each syllable as if it has a particularly nice taste.

Considering who’s directed at, it does.

Gabriel is opening his mouth probably to retort with something worse than Dean’s particularly favorite attributive, when Sam suddenly stands up.

“Alright, guys,” he silences the ongoing one word battle between Dean and Gabriel. “I think that’s enough,” he tells both of them, then looks at Dean. “Are we good, Dean?”

The older hunter spares a couple of seconds thinking about it, but he just studies his little brother’s expression; so apprehensive and genuine. He finds it hard to say no to him.

“My baby’s off limits for him,” he decides, standing up as well. “Nobody threatens my car and gets to ride her.”

Sam is confused. He looks at Dean, then at Gabriel and finally at Cas. One of them must know what his brother’s talking about.

“Gabriel threatened Dean to turn his car neon pink, if he didn’t stop nagging him,” Cas explains.

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Way to go, bro.”

“Is something I said untrue?” Cas frowns. “I remember you didn’t want to--” With a small gesture of Gabriel’s hand, Cas’ mouth is covered by a grey duct tape, to the angel’s surprise.

“Gabriel,” Sam scolds and it all feels like such a parody.

“What? He’s on something, I swear, otherwise I can’t explain the nonsense he’s firing,” he directs a dirty glare to Cas and Dean snorts.

Sam turns to look at him expectantly, but his brother shakes his head, a wry smile straining his lips upwards. “Not risking my baby.”

This is getting ridiculous. Dean’s not talking because apparently his car is threatened by Gabriel and Cas’ mouth is forced into silence by duct tape. That only leaves one option, the actual ‘culprit’.

“Am I gonna have to negotiate for this one too?”

“There’s nothing to negotiate, ‘cause I won’t tell you,” Gabriel resolutely crosses his arms, defensively.

Wonderful.

A five year old would have been more mature than Gabriel. Sam bets all his hunting weapons on it.

“Getting the cold feet now that your creepy watching over thing is getting to light?” Dean can’t help but say and immediately regrets it.

Gabriel’s eyes narrow down on the older hunter, prepared to do something rather than say, but Sam’s faster and he gets between the two, effectively blocking Dean from the archangel’s death glare.

“Okay, now. We cleared the problem up,” he tries to pacify Gabriel. “Now we can move on.”

The archangel sizes up Sam’s face, playing hard to convince, when he really doesn’t care if Sam knows or not. He just wanted to give a bit of hell to Sam’s brother, because nobody gets to talk like they own Sam’s life and he has no say in it.

Not even Gabriel.

He looks up at the tall man in front of him and takes a step, closing the distance between them.

“I’m letting you off the hook this time,” Gabriel says, eyes locked on Sam’s, even if his words are for Dean. “But don’t think I’ll forget, Dean-o.” Dean scoffs, crossing his arms, but doesn’t say anything in return.

Sam rolls his eyes even as Gabriel smirks and snaps his fingers, making the duct tape disappear from Cas’ mouth and a lollipop appear in his mouth. Sweet nectar for his taste buds. He turns his head back to the angel and a silent agreement passes between them.

“You never told me how did your Grace go into Sam’s body,” Cas says out of the blue. “The spell I found did not have a detailed description of the process it required to prepare it.”

Gabriel is silent for a moment as two pair of eyes focus on him, Dean still fuming over what happened earlier, thus his gaze is resolutely burning holes into the table. They’re curious to know how it happened. He could tell them he has no idea, but Cas knows he’s better than that.

Oh well.

“I touched the wards a second or two after the spell activated,” he begins, using as many simple words as he can to describe what happened then. His Grace registered the part he doesn’t remember at all.

“Which means that the wards acted as a vacuum, sucking my Grace out of me and shoving it into you,” he says, looking straight at Sam, “being the only other vessel around in which to reside. The spell was meant to extract and consume a human soul, adding to the power of it, but it didn’t get the chance, being immediately overwhelmed by an angelic presence.”

He pauses just for the added effect. “It deactivated as soon as my Grace settled around your soul, shielding it from any intrusion.”

“Interesting,” Cas says, staring at a point just off Gabriel’s shoulder.

“Peachy!” Dean exclaims, when the silence stretches on for too long. “Now can we get back to our original spell? My room’s started to stink like a dump.”

“We could have rented that cooling box--”

“It’s a mini refrigerator, Cas,” Dean interrupts. “And no, we couldn’t, ‘cause I’ll be damned if I pay three bucks per hour for that ragged _thing_ she showed us. That’s called cheating, I’m telling ya!”

“It looked fine to me,” Cas tries again.

“It looked older than my baby and she’s in a fantastical shape!”

“Still, we could--”

Gabriel ignores the bickering old couple and turns to look at Sam. “So, we’re--” he purposefully trails off, unsure as to what Sam wants from this--thing that’s between them.

“Fine,” Sam finishes his sentence and smiles.

“A thing?” Gabe tries, kicking himself internally for how hopeful he sounded.

Sam’s face splits up into a grin and Gabriel’s forced to acknowledge the warm feeling that swells in his chest at the sight of it. He can’t help himself but mirror the grin. It makes him feel giddy with happiness.

“That too,” Sam says, more than pleased.

“Which means that we can have more of this morning’s.”

“Lots of it,” Sam agrees, following their brothers out of the motel room, still arguing over the pros and cons of loaning a refrigerator.

“Good, ‘cause the aperitif only made me hungrier,” Gabriel says idly, but Sam knows he means every word of it.

He entwines their fingers together, smiling to himself, as they make their way to Dean’s room, further down on the passageway.

“Then that makes two of us.”

**Author's Note:**

> FYI, this wasn't supposed to become the huge-ass monster you've just read! I predicted ten pages at the beginning. Two weeks later, the first draft had thirty. And by the end of the first proof-reading it reached sixty.
> 
> Ah, how fickle the mind of a writer can be.
> 
> The very base idea was prompted by R, back in September. She wanted Sabriel, the two stumbling upon a spell of some sorts and then *snap* messy situations ensue. Did I make 'em messy enough? XD
> 
> P.S. It somehow alludes to a sequel (and I admit I do have some ideas written down for a second part concerning things I didn't\couldn't cover in this one).... but I'm not making any promises. Just, keep an eye out for a possible round 2 :)


End file.
